Best Shot
by twelveisagoodone
Summary: Malcolm Tucker is the Dark Lord of Westminster, feared by grown man and avoided by the wise ones. But his life is about to change when his path crosses with the strong and independent woman called Clara Oswald.
1. It all started with a dance

She was a little nervous. Much more than a little, actually, as she crossed the hallway to enter the great ballroom full of people. She blamed her anxiety to the fact that the PM himself would be there tonight. He probably already was.

It was her first official party since she had started to work at the Department of Transports and it was a ball. Of course it was a ball, there was even an orchestra playing! She loved to dance, but probably it wouldn't happen tonight and for a quick moment she resented her own fate for being alone. Again. But she quickly brushed the feeling back. She was an independent and strong woman who was on the control her own life, she thought, looking for her lost self-confidence while she kept walking.

There were too many familiar faces around while she made her way among the numerous guests. Besides the expected bigwigs from the government, she spotted some people of her own department, people whom she saw on a daily basis at her workplace and who waved or kindly smiled at her, but from whom she had no intention to approach. She hadn't made many friends at work, not that that annoyed her that much; on the contrary, some days the detachment made her work easy. She was pretty good at her job; she knew it and her boss had discovered it very soon, making her on of his advisors. That had annoyed some people at the department and some one had told her that she should be careful with the enemies she had done.

She almost smiled. Funny thing that she hadn't made a single friend at work but seemed to have gathered a handful of enemies. But it wasn't her fault that half of the people of her department didn't have a clue about what they are doing and the other half simply didn't care enough. Of course there were exceptions, thank God for them. So she was almost happy when she finally found Lucy Brown and George Campbell, maybe the only ones with a functional brain and guts enough to pull their sleeves up and do the hard work at the department. They weren't close enough for her count them among her friends, but they were good colleagues and certainly good company.

After a quick chat with them, which had included Lucy's gown, George's poorly choice of drink and the project they had been working on, she had left them with the excuse that she needed to find a friend, which wasn't a lie anyway. It took her a few more minutes to finally see the beaming face of Sam Cassidy and her friend's warm smile helped to soothe her while they walked towards each other.

"Finally!" Sam held her hand gently. "I thought you had given up!" "Why would I?"

"Well, I don't know," Sam gave her a teasing grin. "Sometimes you do strange things, Clara Oswald."

Clara rolled her eyes at her friend but there was a hint of an amused smile on her lips. She then grinned to the dark haired man standing just one step behind Sam. He was handsome and his green eyes sparkled from behind his glasses. Clara couldn't avoid the thought that he should seriously rethink about his glasses. It gave him an air of an older and decadent version of Harry Potter.

"Hi, Mark." He bowed his head in response, in his very particularly version of a gentlemanly gesture that elicited a chuckle from both women. "You look dapper," she added kissing him on the cheek.

"I am, am I not?" He seemed very proud of himself in his rented tux. "Despite the clear intention of this bowtie in suffocate me before the night ends, I think I'm actually looking pretty good in it."

Clara suppressed a grin when Sam had punched him lightly on the arm and scolded him with a good-humored spark in her eyes. "Don't be so smug, Mark."

He just grinned and pretended that his arm was hurting while Sam rolled her eyes at him. Clara watched them for a brief moment without avoid feeling a little envy for their clear happiness. Funny thing that she had been the one who had introduced them a couple months ago, her two best friends. Not that she felt anything but friendship for Mark, he wasn't her type anyway. But she was losing bit by bit the company of her two best friends, and she missed them. But of course she was happy for them, she truly was. Now that she had been thinking about it, it had been more than a couple months that they had started dating; it had been almost a year. God, her life was really pathetic, wasn't it?

Mark was a funny guy, that kind who always had a little joke about everything and she enjoyed herself chatting and laughing with them while she sipped the good champagne there were serving.

"So, did you see Tony anywhere?"

"You mean, Tony, your boss Tony?" Sam raised one eyebrow and it was obvious by the look on her face that she didn't believe that Clara really wanted to talk to her boss right now when they were in a party like that.

_He is a completely twat, Clara! _She had said to her one day while they were waiting at the coffee shop line, as they usually did every morning before they both went to their respective jobs.

Clara suspected that Sam's poor opinion about Tony Skinner was more largely influenced by Sam's boss' personal opinion about the Minister than for her own beliefs.

It was true that Tony Skinner had already put his foot in his mouth more than once and had caused some embarrassing situations for the government, that kind of situations in what Sam's boss was needed. And it was also true that sometimes he acted like a smug bastard. But most of the times he was ethic, well intentioned and truly committed to do a good work, which were enough reasons to make Clara forgave his not so iconic speeches and his eventual obnoxious behavior and kept working for him.

"Please, forget about your goofy boss! As hard as it seems to believe, there are indeed some interesting people you should meet in here."

"He is not goofy!" Clara chuckled. "You are starting to sound like your boss, Sam."

Mark's eyes opened in mock horror and Sam shook her head in amusement.

"I can assure you that goofy is not a word that belongs to Malcolm's vocabulary."

"Speaking of the devil." Mark moved his head slightly to their left and Clara saw him, a tall and slender man walking towards them, moving through the other guests as if he owned the place.

She knew him, of course she knew. Everybody knew who was Malcolm Tucker. Well, at least, everybody in that ballroom. They had already met before, more than once, although she doubted he would remember her. Which could be very comforting considering that two of their previous meetings had happened with Malcolm popping up at the Transports Department to scold Minister Skinner. If someone could call the menace that Malcolm's infuriated collection of threats and curses were as scolding. It seemed to be a too soft word for it.

But she wasn't scared of him; actually, he had impressed her. But not for the venous man she had already seen in action. She was impressed by the man behind the mask he seemed so carefully wear to succeed in that world of politics. A man that, as far as she knew, might not even exist, but of whom she had caught a glimpse some time ago, in a chance encounter at a bookstore.

They had bumped at each other at the bookstore's door and as a result she had dropped the coffee she had been precariously carrying in one of her hands. She had immediately recognized him (how couldn't she?) and hidden her surprise as soon as his eyes had laid on her. He had seemed to be embarrassed and had apologized, offering to buy her another coffee, which she had refused assuming her share of guilt at the accident. His boyish grin and warm eyes had disoriented her and she didn't know what to do of it at that time. She still didn't.

After one more apology, he had held the door open for her to get out and then it had happened. A quick moment when their eyes had locked and she could see something else inside of his. Something deep, something alluring and also frightening. But then the moment had gone and the door had slowly closed between them, leaving her with the odd feeling that there should be something else; that it wasn't supposed to happen like that.

Maybe it had been her imagination. Surely, what else? But then there was Sam who was devoted and loyal to him. Clara knew Sam too well to ignore that if she was still working with him it was only because she believed and trusted him; it was because maybe she could see the man behind the mask. If that man really existed.

And tonight, well, what could she say? The man definitely knew how to wear a tux. She tried not to look too much at him, tried to be discreet, but her knees seemed made of jelly when his slightly hoarse voice sounded just next to her.

"Sam! You are fucking gorgeous!"

Sam chuckled and Clara saw Mark tensing at her side, his hand protectively moving to the small of Sam's back by instinct. But of all people in that room, Sam was the only one that didn't need to be protected from Malcolm.

"Thank you, boss. You don't look bad yourself."

It had always amazed her that Sam was probably the only person in the entire government that was able to talk with the Dark Lord of Whitehall like he was an old and dear friend. And be treated by him like that as well. Maybe because they were real friends after all, as much as they could be, considering whom they were.

Malcolm showed her a grin too full of teeth that reminded Clara of a shark. "Me? I'm just one more penguin in the room."

"There are penguins and penguins, Malcolm." Sam teased him and he chuckled before he moved his eyes to Mark. The other man held his breath as if waiting for an attack. A shark attack. Clara couldn't blame him for that.

"So this is your plus one?" His teasing tone didn't help as he extended a friendly hand to the tense younger man. It didn't go unnoticed to Clara the unspoken ask in Sam's eyes for Malcolm to be nice with Mark. "Mike, is it?"

Clara almost smiled. The man was a legend. She was just waiting for the moment when he would ask Mark if he was good on Quidditch.

"Mark, sir." He finally shook Malcolm's hand with more force than necessary, but then he was trying to regain his confidence. He would feel better if he had seen his girlfriend rolling her eyes at Malcolm, whom, for his credit, pretended to be genuinely concerned with his lousy memory.

"Of course! Mark! I'm not good with names, you know." He looked at Sam with the corner of his eye and Clara was sure that Malcolm was fighting back a smile. A very smug one, if she would bet, the sexy bastard.

Then he looked at her. For a brief second there was a spark in the grey blue of his eyes and then, as fast as it had come, it had vanished. But his intense gaze didn't leave her. She didn't know what to do with that, so she preferred to ignore it, for good measures. Maybe he had remembered her. Maybe not. She couldn't tell and besides, the second option was safer, so she had grabbed it.

"Malcolm, this is my friend, Clara Oswald. She works for Minister Skinner. You two probably had already bumped into each other before."

Sam didn't know about the encounter at the coffee shop, Clara had never told her, but she couldn't be more right.

"Ah." He bowed his head slightly; the soft grin on his lips and his still intense gaze on her caught her breath. "I'm sorry for you, sweetheart."

There it was, the shark in action. She thought she had heard Sam huffing next to her. But she was too busy trying not to make a fool of herself in front of him to concentrate on other thing different than the man in front of her.

"Don't be. He is a very nice man," she managed to say. _What she is doing? She shouldn't be discussing her boss like that. She shouldn't be discussing her boss at all, especially with Malcolm Tucker. _

"Yeah. Fucking nice, indeed." His eyes were still on her and she felt her mouth dry and her cheeks burning. But he had poked her in her pride so she tilted her head and sustained his gaze.

"I don't use to work for people I don't respect, Mr. Tucker. But of course you don't know me, so you can think whatever you want, it's not something I am concerned about." Her eyes challenged him and she thought she had seen that spark again in the blue of his. _Or are they grey? _

She waited for his reply. Actually she could tell that the three of them waited for his reply, but for some unknown reason, Malcolm Tucker was silent. So she was forced to proceed to break the awkward silence.

"Anyway, I really doubt that he is the worst of your problems, Mr. Tucker."

He observed her for a moment longer probably thinking what he will do of her. His gaze was unsettling, but there was not any trace of anger or the usual sarcasm in them. Actually she thought that he was amused. _Is that a smile on the corner of his lips? _

"Not even close, Miss Oswald," he finally said and she heard Mark let out a low sigh of relief. Sam was smiling, a smug smile actually. Why, Clara just couldn't understand. As well as she couldn't understand why from all moments in time Sam choose just now to ask Mark to dance. As far as she knew, Mark didn't even like to dance. Which didn't stop him to happily drag Sam by her hand to the dance floor, as if he was running away from the damned ghosts of the seven hells. Maybe he was.

They both watched Sam and Mark dancing for what seemed to her a long and silent moment of relief.

"Would you like something to drink?" His voice was gentle and his eyes were warm. She hid her surprise, or at least, she thought she did it and when she was silent he added, quirking an eyebrow. "I mean, if I'm not bellow your standards."

"I would like it very much," she finally said with a small smile.

"I can be a real jerk. I'm sure Sam must have told you," he moved his arm to show her the way and they walked side by side to the bar.

"I know," she looked at him defiantly. "Your fame precedes you, Mr. Tucker. And maybe it would surprise you, but Sam have never told me a single bad word about you."

He smiled. "Sam is a good lass."  
"She truly is."  
They stopped at the bar counter and he looked at her seeming genuinely intrigued. "Had she never complained about my..."  
"Colorful language?" She completed when he had hesitated.

"So that is how do you call it?" His grin was smug and for a crazy moment she wished she could kiss it out of his face. Fortunately, the bar attender came to interrupt them. Malcolm looked at her expectantly.

"Wine. Red."  
"You heard the lady. Scotch, no ice for me."

They waited in silence for the bar attender and after he had brought them their drinks and left them alone again, Malcolm raised his glass in a silent toast that she mimicked.

"So, do you and Sam know each other for long?" He asked her after a long sip from his drink. Clara smiled. Again. Maybe she was smiling too much.  
"Since university. We were flat mates."

"How did you end up with Skinner?" He twirled his glass, probably by force of habit. "He is a fucking twat, no matter how passionate or good intentioned he is as you said, and you know that as much as me."

"Maybe. But you know as much as me that he is doing a good job. Despite his 'twatness'." His grin was all the admission she needed for now. So, she drank her wine as much to hide a smile of her own than to avoid the intensity of his gaze upon her. But he was still waiting for her answer, so she went on after a moment. "I was looking for a job. Sam told me that there was an opportunity at Transports, I sent my resume, they called me for a interview and I passed," she shrugged before she added. "It pays good money anyway." She couldn't avoid the thought that maybe she had disappointed him because there was no political convictions or deeper motivations involved in her choice of job.

If he was, he didn't show it and simply chuckled before he lowered his eyes to contemplate the amber liquid in his glass. She took the opportunity to observe him, ignoring the fact that he was perfect aware of her scrutiny, despite not looking at her.

He was difficult to read, but that wasn't a surprise. Men like him needed to build thick walls around themselves to survive their daily battles. And Malcolm was no exception.

What really surprise her were her own reactions around him. She couldn't understand why he

affected her so much. Right, he was handsome, sexy and totally charming when he wanted to be. But she was not the one to be intimidated by handsome and self-confident men like him. On the contrary, she was usually completely self-assured herself around men. Too much for her own good, as Sam kept telling her.

It was not also the fame that preceded him that intimidated her. After all, the man in front of her had nothing or little in common with the aggressive and foul mouthed man she knew he was at work, from the man she had already witnessed on his full rage at her own department. He could even talk almost without cursing, which seemed to be almost a miracle. And the man in front of her tonight resembled too much the man she had a glimpse that day at the bookstore.

Maybe Sam was right in her perception about him. Maybe there was a different Malcolm Tucker hidden somewhere and from time to time, he could be seen through the cracks of his personal walls.

"What the fuck that cunt thinks he is doing?"

_Or maybe not. _

He placed his glass with too much force over the counter and it was a miracle it hadn't shattered.

"The fucking idiot is about to pull a fucking trigger and explode his bloody head in the middle of the room." He pulled his mobile from his trousers pocket, eyes fixed in some point at the dance floor and she followed his gaze to find Minister Hugh Abbott dancing with a woman, if that could be calling dancing. From where she was it seemed more intimate than it should be in a public place. And judging by the fury with Malcolm was talking to someone that she already pitied on his cellphone, that wasn't the only problem. The lady in the Minister's arms was probably not even his wife.

"Miss Oswald, can you do me a favor?" His voice was slightly altered, but his eyes were gentle.

She hesitated for a moment. "Try me, Mr. Tucker." And there it was again, the spark in his eyes. And again, it vanished quickly.

"Actually, it will be two favors."  
"Two?" She raised her eyebrows and he nodded.

"First one, please, call me Malcolm. I feel like I'm a hundred years old every time you call me Mr. Tucker. And I'm not there yet." He smirked. "Although I'm not that far."

"Ok. I can do that. If you call me Clara," she knew that she was grinning again, but this time she couldn't avoid it.

"It's a deal." He extended his hand to her.  
"It's a deal, then." She shook it. "Second one?" "This is a little more trickier."

She furrowed her brow at that and suddenly became completely aware that they were still holding hands. The warm of his touch on her skin was distracting enough for her to lose track of their conversation. They both lowered their eyes to their united hands and immediately pulled back as if they had been burnt. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth to talk but a very tall man with flushed faces and disheveled curly hair joined them in a hurry interrupting him.

"Malcolm?"

"Fuck you, Ollie! Where the hell have you been? Why I'm always doing your job? Your fucking stupid boss is about to commit fucking suicide."

They both looked again to Abbott from whom Clara had nearly forgotten.

"Fuck." It was all what the Ollie guy had managed to say at first and Clara knew that that resumed the situation pretty well. "How did she get in here anyway?"

"I have no fucking idea. But I know how she will fucking leave." Malcolm looked at Clara with the corner of his eye before his gaze came full on Ollie again. "Right, fetus boy, follow us." With a gentle touch on her elbow Malcolm silently asked her to accompany him while Ollie trotted behind them. "Now, Clara the second favor." They stopped near the dance floor in the same moment the orchestra had started to play a song Clara recognized but couldn't remember the name or the lyrics. But with his fingers still lingering on her arm she doubted she would be able to remember anything any way. "Dance with me?"

Clara and Ollie looked at him in utterly surprise before he continued.

"Sorry for disappointing you, Ollie, love, but you are too fucking tall to go unnoticed." He then looked at Clara. "Look, the only way I can get Hugh fucking Abbot from the fucking trap he put himself in without dragging any more attention over him is if you and me change dance partners with them."

The penny finally dropped for Clara, but by the look at Ollie's face, he was still trying to catch up with Malcolm.

"So I have to dance Hugh Abbot back here to Ollie? While you will take care of Miss...?" "Angela Atkins. Daily Mail."  
"Oh." Now she could see the whole picture. It was no wonder Malcolm was enraged.

"Smart girl," he almost smiled and she glared at him telling him that that was a wrong path. "Can you do it for me?" He finally said and the lows and deeps of his voice went straight to her belly. She realized that there were only a few things she was not able to do for him if he kept looking at her like that, but she wasn't the one to give in so easy. So she kept him waiting for the pure pleasure of watching his clever mind desperately working in a second plan just in case she refused.

"Ok." There was a look of satisfaction on his face at her answer but it didn't last as she pressed her forefinger on his chest before he could move, her eyes trained on him, defiantly. "But I'm not doing this for you, for the party, for the sake of the PM, or even for the poor fool of Hugh Abbot. I'm doing this, Malcolm, because I can't stand someone being stabbed at his back, no matter how much of an idiot he is."

Malcolm studied her face for a moment, his piercing eyes sending a chill down her spine before he added, his voice low and soft.

"I've got it, sweetheart." He then held her hand and she saw the corner of his mouth twitching upwards when his other arm encircled her waist. "Shall we?" She nodded and then in the next moment they were spinning on the dance floor.

Must for her surprise he was good dancer. A very good one, in fact. But she thought that maybe he was holding her closer that he should, but then, she hadn't offered any resistance to his

proximity. How could she? Actually, she liked his nearness, and she could feel her skin tingling, even under the fabric of her gown, in the places his fingers touched her back. She could smell the scent of his cologne, soft and masculine, and the way he conducted her on the dance floor made her feel like she was floating.

She was happy that she had chosen a pair of shoes with very high heels for tonight which reduced their height difference considerably when she raised her head to watch him. His eyes were focused on his target, cold and almost frightening. But then he surprised her again lowering his gaze to her. Their eyes met for a moment long enough to steal the air from her lungs.

"Right, we are almost there, sweetheart," his breath touched her face when he spoke. "You know what to do, right? Just one more thing before we part." He moved away from her just a little bit. "After you have dumped Abbot with fucking Ollie, just don't disappear, right? We still have to finish this."

"This?" She blinked blankly.  
"Dancing." The corners of his lips twitched, his eyes warming. "Save one dance to me."

She didn't have time to answer him because he moved away from her to pat Hugh Abbot on his shoulder, interrupting his clumsy dance with the journalist. That shark grin was back again on his face.

"Hugh! Having fun, aren't you?" Malcolm was talking to Abbot but his eyes were menacingly fixed on the woman at his side. To her credit, the woman didn't even flinch. The same couldn't be said of Hugh who opened his mouth in a faint attempt to reply but Malcolm cut him immediately. "Hello, Miss Atkins. Nice to see you."

"I'm not sure if I can say the same, Mr. Tucker."

"Yeah. Probably not." His hand was still holding Hugh's shoulder and he looked at him for the first time since he had started talking. "Now, Hugh, if you will excuses us, Miss Atkins here has promised me a dance." Before Hugh could protest, he had already taken the other woman's hand and added, over her shoulder. "Be a gentleman and finishes the dance with my dear friend Clara, please?"

Hugh Abbot looked at Clara for the first time noticing her presence and she smiled brightly at him, reaching out for his hand. "Shall we, Minister?"

He seemed confused when she had taken his hand and had practically dragged him to Ollie's side. Ollie just nodded his thanks while he kept talking on the phone. By the look on his face, Clara was sure that was Malcolm on the other side. She had heard him mumbling something about putting Abbot in a taxi before he disappeared escorting the drunk Minister with an arm around his shoulder.

She looked around but couldn't see Malcolm anywhere, which was no surprise. He would probably disappear too for longer. It was disturbing that she could still feel a tingling on the spots where Malcolm's hand had been until moments later. She definitely needed a drink. And stop thinking.

Fortunately, Sam and Mark came to her once more. Or so she had thought.

"So, how it happens that you were dancing with my boss?" Sam was teasing her, she knew, but it didn't stop her to blush.

"I was helping him," she felt compelled to explain even knowing that she would only make things

worst. Maybe she should change the subject and let Sam find out Malcolm's version on Monday. "How? Teaching him how to dance?"

Clara sustained Sam's gaze for a moment before she rolled her eyes at her. Why was she determined to torture her? Mark smug smirk on her side was not helping either.

"That's something that he doesn't need help at all, you should know," Clara finally said and decided to change the subject, remembering her need to slow down her mind. "Can we get something to drink?"

\- 0 – 0 -

It took exactly one hour and fourteen minutes to Malcolm show up again, not that she had been counting the time. And she was forced to push back a smile when she saw him, she didn't want to seem as if she had been really waiting for him. Even if he had been the one to ask her to do it. She had her dignity. Or had had. Once.

He stopped several times on his way, shaking hands and patting backs. But his eyes were constantly searching for her, which was as much unsettling as it was scaring. Then he just disappeared from her sight, covered by a group of people passing by and for a moment she thought that maybe he was not coming for her. But then, magically, he just materialized next to Mark.

"Mark, my lad," he patted Mark on his shoulder making him jump in surprise, "it is not fair that you are keeping for yourself the two most beautiful woman at this party."

Sam smiled and shot Clara a meaning glance that she choose to ignore, which was quite easy with Malcolm's eyes on her. She took the arm Malcolm had offered her and with an apology they both walked to the dance floor.

"Sorry for the delay," he said when they started to dance. "I had to make sure Abbot would go straight to home. Alone."

"Don't worry. I was enjoying myself."

"Hope you haven't find other dance partner." With a smirk, he twirled her and she let out and undignified giggle before she came back to the safety of his arms and regained her balance.

"Well, no one as good as you anyway."

When the music ended they walked side by side, her hand resting on the crook of his arm until they found a calmer place to seat since Mark and Sam couldn't be seen in anywhere. But Clara could bet that they were watching them right now, she was almost sure of it. He got them a couple of drinks from a passing waiter and handed her one of them. They stood in silence sipping from their drinks and pretending to watch around while their eyes danced around each other in a kind of hide and seek little game.

"So, this is part of your job?" He glanced at her over his glass.

"Babysitting fucking cunts to avoid hurricanes of piss over the government?" He tilted his head with an amused grin when she practically had grimaced at the image. "It should be on my fucking job description."

"Well, you must have a hell of a resume, Malcolm Tucker." He chuckled. "Yeah."

Their eyes met for a long and silent moment and she lost herself in the impossible color of his. The intensity of his gaze warmed her all in the right places in the most completely wrong moment. Maybe she had drunk too much, or maybe she was just tired, but she could swear that his gaze wandered from her eyes to her lips and that made her mouth impossibly dry. When he had parted his lips letting a puff of warm air out of them just after she had licked her dry ones, she decided that was time to go home before things got awkward or complicated. On her current condition, probably both. So before she could do something really, really stupid, she stood up. And he instantly followed her; unsure of what she was doing.

"Well, I have to go."

If he was disappointed with her decision, he didn't show it. Maybe he also feared what could happen if she stood there a little longer. Too much had already transpired between than in the last few minutes for him to ignore it. So he wisely just nodded.

"Sorry for involving you in all this mess."

"Don't be." She smiled at him, an honest one, her eyes locked on his for longer that it was proper for their own sake. "It was my pleasure."

He gave her a lopsided smile in acknowledgment.

"Good night, Malcolm Tucker."

"Night, Clara Oswald."

She had only walked a few steps when she felt a hand on her arm. His hand. She turned around slowly to face him.

"Any chance of you stopping by that bookstore again tomorrow?"

She raised her eyebrows. So he remembered her. Well, that was unexpected and embarassing. After a moment she finally found her voice again.

"Maybe."

He grinned and let go of her arm and she knew that his eyes were following her until she crossed the door.


	2. You can't start a fire without a spark

Malcolm woke up in a jump that almost made him fell on the floor, a terrible whistling noise disorientating him while he grabbed the couch armrest for balance. It took him a couple of seconds to figure out that he was at his living room and the shrill sound affecting his senses was only the kettle on the oven.

"Fuck." He sat straight on the couch and rubbed his tired eyes with the pads of his hands, still feeling the signs of a headache forming at his temples. He must have dozed off on the couch while waiting for the water to boil. With some effort, he stood up and finally got rid of the tie that still hanged loose on his neck before he got into the kitchen to turn off the oven and kill the persistent noise before his head could explode.

God, he was exhausted and he wouldn't make another day without a shower and a couple of hours of sleep. Malcolm glanced at the clock at the kitchen wall. 3:15 AM. That would give him time enough to get ready for the day ahead.

After a cup of tea he went upstairs and tossed his clothes on the armchair next the bed. Walking straight to the shower, he left the warm water fell down his head and sore muscles for a long time.

And he had thought that the worst of his problems for the weekend had been the fucking idiot of Hugh-fucking-Abott getting drunk and trying to get into the pants of that bitch. He sighed. What an idiot. By now, he should've been aware that there was no limit of how much people could fuck up things without even opening their shitty mouths.

It had taken Malcolm an entire weekend to clean up the storm of piss created for someone who had leaked false information about a new health policy. He was on his way home after the gala when his phone had rang with the alarming news, making him go straight to Number 10 and gather the help of some people in the wee hours of the Saturday. In the last two days he had been at home for just thirty minutes for a shower and to change in clean set of clothes.

That was why his tux was still over his bed. Now he hadn't the energy to properly hang it on his wardrobe so he just placed it on the armchair, on top of his other clothes. He would need to take it to the laundry anyway.

His last thoughts, before he finally surrendered to a well-deserved recovery sleep, were for Clara. He decided to ignore that annoying thought on the back of his head telling him that she was trouble for more reasons than he could enumerate in his actual state. He unconsciously smiled, his eyelids heavy as the sleep started to claim him. She had made a hell of a first impression, with a silent promise of heaven on the flash of her dimples and hell on the velvet brown of her eyes.

But that fucking twats had ruined his entire weekend, including Sunday lunch at his sister's. Oh, yeah, Lucy. She was probably still mad with him. But that was something he would have to deal later.

\- 0 – 0 –

His alarm clock rang on his ears a few hours later and he silenced the buzz with a slap. All his body screamed for a few more hours of sleep, but he forced himself to stand up and slowly went downstairs. Soon, work would urge him to be on his best when he could barely think straight, so the only way to shake off the sleep was a good cup of black coffee. Fortunately that was something he was able to prepare almost with his eyes shut, survival skills he had developed along the years.

His hands moved by instinct picking things up at the kitchen counter and preparing coffee. Black, strong, no sugar, his brain requested every morning. He sat at the kitchen's table and waited for the soothing sounds of the coffee maker, head on his hands, his mind blank.

He definitely wasn't a morning person. Even when he got enough sleep he could only start to function after a generous portion of strong black coffee. Lucy had never stopped to tease him because of his grumpy morning mood when they were younger. She still did it sometimes, when she was brave enough to call him early in the morning. Which reminded him that he must call her to properly apologize for missing yesterday lunch. He hadn't had much time to do it before and knowing her, by know his life was in danger.

As soon as the familiar scent filled the kitchen, he poured himself a large mug and came back to his place at the table, drinking the first half in two long sips before he started to check his phone for new messages. As he thought there were a couple of angry messages from his sister, the last one threatening to punch him so hard that she would detach something from his body if he wouldn't make time to take the kids out on Saturday. His lips twitched up slightly. So very Lucy.

Malcolm poured another mug and slowly drank from it. His sister and her children were his only family and he loved them more than he was able to express. He knew that they must be very disappointed with him and he had promised the children compensating them with a picnic at the park next weekend. A promise he was determined to keep. Even knowing that he could have to pay a high price for it.

That was the part of his job that he hated. His mistress, a jealous bitch, always trying to take control of his entire life, constantly demanding his presence, his attention, keeping him always on the run and stealing from him the few moments he could have with his family. That Sunday lunch hadn't been the first and wouldn't be the last that he would be forced to cancel because of his work and there was a part of him that would always regret his choices because of things like that.

But truth to be told, despite all the time it consume him, all the sleepless nights, all the shitty people he had to deal day after day, the side effects of the excess of caffeine on his blood and the constant pressure that by now must've already shortened his life in a good number of years, Malcolm loved his job. He loved the thrill of having the world spinning under the touch of his fingers, of pushing people's buttons to make them to do what their were suppose to do, of walking on the edge on a daily basis. Lucy had told him once that it was like an addiction. Probably she was right, but he couldn't tell for sure since he had never tried to quit it. And he probably never

would.

He gave a quick glance to the clock and washed his mug before he hurried upstairs. Time for a shower and a shave, Number 10 was waiting for him.

\- 0 – 0 -

Clara met Sam at the coffee shop on Monday morning and the other brunette looked at her with an amused grin.

"So, tough weekend, Oswald?"

"The worst, actually," Clara suppressed a yawn and looked at the coffee shop menu hanging on the wall just for habit because she would order the same thing as everyday - a caffe latte and a croissant, both to go. "My granny went to the hospital on Saturday morning and I spent the entire weekend with her."

Sam's face fell and she blushed a little, worry clear on her eyes. "Oh, Clara, I'm sorry," she touched her arm fondly.  
"Don't be," Clara smiled. "How could you know?"  
"How is she?"

"She is ok now. The doctors changed her high blood pressure medicine and after a dozen of tests, sent her home on Sunday morning," she smiled at her friend. "My Dad is taking care of her now, so she will be fine, despite the presence of the Dragon Woman." Clara grimaced causing Sam to chuckle at her usual disgust with her stepmother. "But I will check on her at the end of the day."

Clara observed while her friend ordered two coffees, as she usual did, one for her and the other one for her boss. But for the first in all those months it hit her that the second coffee was for Malcolm. She hadn't much time to think about him on the weekend and now, the memory of his smug smile on that tux on Friday night was enough to bring butterflies to her stomach.

Worst, the idea that they would meet again, sooner or later, made her strangely uneasy. Clara could only hope that their next meeting wouldn't be for one of Malcolm's infamous bollocking sessions because that would be extremely disturbing.

She saw the quick glance Sam gave to her watch and they both exchange a knowing look. Sam smiled and said her goodbyes before she went in a hurry to Number 10 while Clara made her way to the opposite side with a sigh, her thoughts coming back to Malcolm once more.

\- 0 – 0 -

Unfortunately, her fears became true when a perfect good Thursday morning collapsed over them like a hurricane. Skinner's interview transformed into a total disaster when he had slipped on basic questions and, in a attempt to escape from a question that was a obvious trap, had left hanging on the air that there were strong disagreements between him and the PM.

So it wasn't a surprise when Malcolm Tucker stormed into the Department for Transports, half hour later, crossing the hallway with his long strides, his face a mask of cold determination crowned by the look of a predator hunting for his prey.

Clara tried to seem nonchalant and pretended to be focused on her computer screen, but failed miserably. It was impossible not look at him while he walked towards Skinner's office. She could

almost hear the classical song of Jaws playing at the background while her eyes followed him.

For her surprise, he slowed his pace when he approached her desk and she could swear that his stormy eyes had softened a bit when had met hers. His lips twitched upwards in an almost imperceptible way but fortunately nobody noticed. Clara immediately knew that it would be the biggest acknowledgement he would give her and she was grateful for that.

She had been the target of some mean insinuations on Monday because they had danced at the gala. Nothing that she hadn't rebuffed and extinguished immediately, of course, but she wasn't in a mood to have all that again. Especially not now with all the work they would've had ahead to clean up the mess her boss had done.

So it was with a certain dose of relief that she watched him disappearing into Skinner's office to join her boss and his two political advisors. By now the three of them should be the most unfortunate and pathetic people in all Britain and she could almost feel sorry for them.

Clara tried to forget about Malcolm and concentrated on her own work. With the telephones at the Department going crazy and the people around her seeming too much frightened by the events, Clara quickly decided that she had to do something to prevent things to become worst. Since she wasn't sure what Malcolm had in mind to clean that mess, which probably would be something like Skinner resignation at the limit or, a more conservative measure like a statement to be delivered to the press immediately followed by an appearance next to the PM, she decided that the best thing to do right now to soothe the press griffons was give them nothing. And so she instructed everybody to do exactly that and get rid of the phone calls as quickly as possible without any word about the interview.

They were still answering phone calls when Dave, one of Skinners political advisors, popped out his head through the office door and called her to join them. Clara bit her lip. That wasn't good. The last thing she needed right now was to get in that room with Malcolm still in there. But there was no way to get rid off it right now so she adjusted her skirt and marched to the room.

She didn't look at Malcolm when she got inside and focused her attention on Dave, who was asking her to rewrite some text he had just sent her by email. Clara understood from the few bumbling words he gave her that the text it was Skinner's explanation statement for the press. From the corner of her eye, she saw when Malcolm impatiently rolled his eyes and stood up, fortunately interrupting Dave before she could kick him. Now she couldn't avoid him anymore, not with him talking directly at her. But she didn't avoid his eyes while she heard him explain to her, in a few words and a couple of swearing, exactly what they needed from her.

Clara acknowledged with a nod of her head and Malcolm thanked her with a professional smile before she left the room straight to her desk. The email was a sequence of sentences full of swearing that could only be Malcolm's creation, of course, but the main message was in there. She shook her head pushing back a smile and worked quickly to remove all the obscenities, rephrased and adjust the text to something that could be published on the papers as the most perfect possible explanation Skinner's sudden absence of mind.

After she sent it back to Dave she knocked on the door and poked her head inside to tell them that she had finished. Malcolm was already reading it from Dave's laptop and looked at her, raising his eyebrows slightly in a way Clara thought it was a sign of approval.

"Right," he stood up quickly and walked to the door, his eyes trained on her. "I need you help to spread this note every-fucking-where. Can you do this for me, Miss Oswald?"

She tilted her head slightly and raised her eyebrows at him. By the shadow of a smirk tugging the corner of his lips up Clara knew that Malcolm remembered what she had said to him last time he

had asked her the same question, but he just stood silent, waiting for her answer.

After her short nod, he added, turning on his heels to look at the others, "Good, honorable MP and the White Stripes, you come with me to Number 10 now. And Miss Oswald," he looked at her once more at time to see her disguising a smile, "can you give that cunts something to eat while we are mopping this shit?"

"Don't worry," she added and left the room back to her place to organize the things and gather the help she would need to put Skinner's note out there as quickly as possible.

They left Skinner's office in a hurry, the three of them trotting after Malcolm. He stopped quickly at her desk and gave her a piece of a paper with a phone number on it. "Let me know when you finish it, ok? Sam will send you some more useful information in a minute or two, so stay alert to your e-mail."

"Ok," she said it slowly and this time he showed a real grin before he turned on his heel and disappeared through the main doors.

A few minutes after they had left, she received Sam's email with some additional contacts of people Clara should talk to get the note published plus Sam's wishes of good luck and a final reminder that she should call Malcolm if she needed it. But at the end, it was Malcolm who called her first to check how things where going on and to ask her a couple of things more. HIs voice at the other side of the phone caught her by surprise and she wondered how he had gotten her number. Probably from Dave or Skinner. Or maybe Sam. But Clara left her curiosity behind, not having time to think about it with all the work she still had ahead her for today.

\- 0 – 0 -

Night had already fallen and she was alone at the office, working hard to finish some things she didn't want to leave for the next day. She was barely conscious of the sound of footsteps approaching by the hallway and only when it stopped in front of her desk she decided to move her eyes from her computer. Malcolm. Of course.

His eyes were tired, but his tousled hair and the loosened tie on his neck gave him an almost boyish air.

"Still here?" He smiled and shoved his hands into his pockets.

"Yeah, all this mess give me some extra work to do," she reclined on her chair to have a better look of him.

"Can't imagine why," his blue-steel eyes sparkled with mirth and she decided to play his game.

"Well, I thought it was a good idea revise some of the MP emails before sending them to the PM's Director of Communications. People say that he could be a real mother fucker, you know."

He watched her for a moment before his face broken in a smirk. "Right. I will give you this one, Oswald. Fine job today, by the way," he gave a couple of steps towards Skinner's office but turned around to look at her, pointing his forefinger at her with a good humored spark on his eyes. "Just don't tell this to anyone or they will think that I'm going fucking soft."

Clara chuckled and picked up a file from her last drawer and handed it to him. "Are you looking for this?"

He stopped before he got into the office and glared at her, all the softness on his face going away at once. "Where did you find it?"

"You forgot it at Skinner's office. I found it and thought it was safer to keep it at my drawer than let someone else find it."

He got the file from her hands, his serious eyes analyzing her with an offensive coolness. She added, barely hiding her irritation with the suspicion on his eyes. "And I didn't look inside. No need to worry, Mr. Tucker."

They stared at each other for a moment, her dark eyes challenging him to say something else.

"Thank you," his eyes softened a little and she dared to say that he seemed almost guilty. "Come on, time to call this a day, right?"

She thought for a moment longer and finally let out a resigned sigh knowing that she wouldn't concentrate on her work anymore even if he left her alone. While she collected her things and turned off her computer she was aware of his gaze upon her. He smiled at her and held the office's the door open for her and it was in the same awkward silence that they went down inside the elevator. He was the one who broke it when they crossed the building's large doors, giving a glance at his watch.

"It's too fucking late. I'll walk you to your car." "Don't need to worry. I'm taking the tube."

"Are you fucking nuts?" He stared at her for a moment before he pointed a black taxi parked near by that it was obviously waiting for him. "Come on, I'll give you a lift home."

"I can take care of myself, Mr. Tucker, thank you. Don't need to make a fuss about it."

"Oh, for Christ sake. I'm not fussing, ok?" She raised an ironic eyebrow at that but he seemed unaffected. "Do you know what time is it? There is no fucking way I'll let you walking around by yourself. Who knows what kind of twat you can meet on your way? So please forget that you are cross with me and get into the fucking car, right?"

Clara took a moment to analyze his face. Despite his words, his voice was calm and his soft eyes were trained on her, waiting for her answer. But something about his posture told her that there was only one right answer for his question.

"So, Malcolm, tell me," she tried to put a straight face but her slightly curled lips betrayed her, "this is you trying to be kind?"

He hesitated as if disarmed by her words, but then his face cracked into a mischievous smirk. "This is me being a fucking gentleman, sweetheart," he walked towards the taxi and opened the door and with a little bow he extended her his hand. Clara shook her head slightly, but the smiled on her lips widened when she grabbed his hand and got into the taxi.

\- 0 – 0 -

Malcolm was happily surprised for finding her still there. It had been an unexpected prize after one more fucking normal day at the office, especially when he had realized that he had to go back to DfT to pick the files he had forgotten there earlier. It wasn't what he had in mind before he went home, but now that she was there, things seemed to be a little brighter.

For one moment he had thought that he had fucked up everything before he had a real chance to know her. His survival instinct of seeing danger in everyone endangered something he suspected it could turn into a good thing if he only give himself chance. But he had immediately known

there was still hope when she had teased him about his manners and had accepted his lift home.

They sat in silence while the taxi moved through the streets to her place, words failing him while his mind struggled whether he should or not ask her out. He watched her from the corner of his eye, pretending to check his phone, while she seemed to be lost in thought, eyes fixed on the window.

He was usually very confident around woman and didn't have any real problems in finding company when he wanted to. But this was different, Clara was different. Despite the fire he could see concealed on the chocolate brown of her eyes, she wasn't a one-night girl. There was something else about her, something he couldn't quite put a finger on it, but that made him want to be around her and to know her better.

They hopped off the taxi when it had stopped in front of her place and he walked by her side to her door. Their eyes finally met and he smiled. Maybe he was smiling too much.

"So, at home safe and sound, Cinderella," he hid his hands inside his trouser's pockets.

"Yeah, many thanks, fairy Godmother," she said and he could notice the teasing tone on her voice.

"Now this is really offensive. I was aiming for Prince Charming," he put a hand over his heart and pretended to be wounded but the sound of her giggle warmed the cool night air around him.

"Have to try harder next time, Mister."

Right, that was it. He knew that he should say something clever right now, something very charming that would persuade her to go out with him, but he suddenly forgot how to speak, lost in the softness of her eyes. Maybe he was getting too old for that.

"Good night, then Malcolm. Thank you for the lift," she finally said after a too long silent moment, opening the door and stepping in.

" 'Night, Clara," it was the most eloquent thing he came up with while he watched her for a second before turning away to walk back to the taxi. But after a couple of steps he just stopped on his track. Malcolm almost kicked himself. Why was he chickening out like a fucking stupid teenager?

"Clara!" Her surprised face popped up through the door, his voice reaching her a second before she closed it behind her back. He forced a smile but was almost sure that he had failed miserably. "I was thinking in going for some pints tomorrow, after work. Care to join me?" She blinked at him and he added quickly, unable to control the urge to explain himself, "I owe you some entertainment after today."

A small crease appeared on her brow and he caught his breath on his throat. He couldn't have read it all wrong, could he? She had given him a perfect excuse to ask her out just a moment before. But her silence was killing him and he chewed the inner side of his cheek. It was a simple question that should have a simple answer, right? She should say no and finished his agony at once. Impatient, he opened his mouth to speak but her voice fortunately prevented him of saying something really stupid.

"Deal," her gentle smile brought back the air to his lungs. "You have my phone number, Tucker. Text me with time and place tomorrow." She was about to come in again but turned around quickly, pointing her forefinger at him. "And don't even think about giving up. You owe me this one."

"No fucking way of this to happen," his lips curled in a lopsided grin. "Tomorrow, then, right?"

"Tomorrow then," she echoed before disappearing behind the door leaving Malcolm alone with his thoughts. Nothing bad for an old sod, he thought, walking back to the taxi in a giddy pace.


	3. Something about ties

Her phone finally buzzed at the middle of the afternoon and she couldn't deny a certain relief when she saw that it was Malcolm.

"_I hope you haven't given up yet. There is still time, though. M." _

Her lips curled in a tiny smile while she entered her reply and pressed the send button.

"_I won't. You are paying, by the way." _

A couple of seconds later his answer flashed on her phone's screen.

"_Never said I wouldn't. Is it 6 ok for you?" _

She could bet that he had that smug smile on his handsome face right now.

"_Perfectly fine. Where?" _

"_Do you know The Royal Oak?" _

"_Of Course." _

"_See you there then." _

Clara hid her smile behind her computer screen, feeling smug. She had thought that he had forgotten or worse, that he had regretted inviting her and would send an excuse to not coming.

Now she would only have to wait a couple of hours more to see to where that would lead her. She could only hope that she wouldn't get burn in the process.

\- 0 – 0 -

The pub was already crowded, a perfectly normal Friday evening. She got inside searching for him and checked her phone for any possible message warning her he would be late or wouldn't come.

Luckily, she spotted an empty booth and took a seat there while waiting for him. It didn't take too long for she to see him, making his way through the crowd with two glasses on his hands.

He smiled at her and placed a glass of wine and a pint on the table before he sat in front of her. "So, you'd made it," he said handing her the wine glass.

"So did you," she cast a curious glance at the wine and then at him. "How did you know that I would order wine?"

"Call me a fucking smart ass," he smirked and watched her while she took a long sip, allowing the taste of the golden liquid take over her mouth. Malcolm raised one inquisitive eyebrow. "So?"

"Good choice," she smiled, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment. "But I still like red more."

"Of fucking course," a smug grin pulled the corner of his mouth upwards and he leaned a little towards her as if he was about to share a secret. Instinctively, Clara mirrored him, a smile finding its way on her lips too. "Problem is they don't have good reds here. Only fucking rubbish ones," he shrugged and leaned back on the booth.

"Are you a wine expert too?" Her teasing tone made him chuckle and she watched with veiled enchantment while his long and graceful fingers loosened the knot of his tie. He had beautiful and expressive hands and she was grateful that he started to talk again before her mind wandered about how would be to feel the touch of his fingers against her skin.

"No, not really. Just learned a fucking thing or two along the years," he gave her a crooked smile that made her giggle. "Fucking survival skills," he took a good sip from his beer. "Are you?"

"I wish I would, but no. I'm rubbish," she smiled and sustained his gaze for a moment longer, enough to make her think about the impossible color of his eyes. The light inside the place cast flickers of green in the grey-blue of them, making it hard to define their exact color. And even with his intense gaze upon her, she found herself unable to avert her eyes from his.

"Well, at least we can fucking drink it, right?" He raised his pint to make a toast and she joined him.

It took them a couple of minutes more to leave behind the awkwardness of the first minutes and suddenly she caught herself completely engaged in conversation with him. It was easy to talk with Malcolm, at least this Malcolm in front of her. He was charming and quite funny with his stories about his early days in politics and his more than colorful opinions about some mutual acquaintances that walked through the government corridors, but nothing that could compromise him or his position.

Although he seemed to be at ease with her, it didn't go unnoticed to Clara that Malcolm still kept himself behind his walls, revealing very little about himself and letting her, or better, cleverly making her to do most of the talking. But that didn't bothered her as much as she thought it would.

In between the lines, she let him know that she was completely aware of the kind of game he was playing but he didn't seem to be surprised at that, as if he couldn't expect anything less from her. And just because it was from him, she secretly took it as compliment.

So, she found herself talking about her passion for books and English literature, her disastrous first attempts to cook the perfect soufflé and her plans of one day travel around the world.

Their eyes danced around each other and the easy smile on his lips told her more than he probably would like to let her know. His ankle had brushed her leg once to be quickly removed, though she doubted it had been unintentional by the ghost of a smirk she had caught on the corner of his lips. But that last part could well have been the wine too.

She poked him hard on the ribs after Malcolm had made a teasing comment about her taste in music that she decided to take as an offense just to pay him back, but her fake stern facade almost broke into a smile when he had practically jump off his seat. So he was ticklish. Cute.

Just then she became aware of his nearness. When had he changed places to sit just next to her on the booth? She could feel the warm emanating from him, their legs almost touching. Not that she would complain, but yet, the temptation of his lips was almost too much. At least she still had her glass of wine to hide herself behind.

She decided that was time to go when she started to give him advices about his choices of tie, her fingers playing with the soft fabric of the one that still hanged on his neck. Malcolm just heard her with unveiled interest, watching her fingers for a moment until she removed them quickly to hide her hand on her lap.

"Well, I must go," she finally said.

He furrowed his brow and peered at his watch.

"As much as it hurts me to say, me either," he stood up and offered her a hand that she accepted with a smile, the touch of his fingers on her skin electrifying. They made their way out among the crowd and she tried to ignore the warm of his hand on the small of her back spreading through her spine.

After she dissuaded him to give her another lift home, they walked side by side to the nearest tube station, he with his hands carefully hidden inside his trouser pockets and she with her arms crossed to her chest in a attempt to kept herself warm. They stopped at the entrance and his eyes immediately seek for hers.

"It was a nice evening, Malcolm. Thank you," she couldn't avoid the smile on her lips.

"Yeah," he showed her that soft smile that she already adored. "Maybe can we repeat it some other day?"

"Sure."

After a moment dwelling on what to do next she decided that she needed a little more of him. Malcolm didn't move when she gave a step forward and placed her hand on his chest to go on her tiptoes and gave a soft kiss on his cheek. Her lips lingered a second longer that it should before she moved back.

"Take care, Tucker."

He just nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. "You too, Oswald."

\- 0 – 0 –

Unexpectedly, they met again at the park on Saturday and she would never be able to say what had surprised her more; the sight of Malcolm Tucker, the so called Dark Lord, lying on his back on the grass under two giggling children that were apparently winning a tickle battle or the sound of his warming laughter.

Clara just stood there, watching them as if mesmerized by the lovely scene unfolded before her eyes. She was forced to muffle a laughter herself when Malcolm moved with a surprisingly agility, escaping from the kids to stand at his feet and pick the little girl by her arms to spin her around him in the air, making her to squeal in excitement. The three of them were completely lost in their own little world, full of laughter and smiles, until now unaware that someone was watching them.

Then he glanced at her and gave her a double take as to be sure that it was really she. Clara felt like she had just broken the magic when he carefully lowered the girl to the ground and kneeled beside her to check if the little one wasn't dizzy, before he looked at Clara once more. He stood up slowly and shook off some leaves and grass from his clothes.

It was strange to see him in something different than a suit, but she had to admit that maybe it was for a good cause. He should be banned to wear jeans and v-jumpers, especially light blue ones, not to mention a tux.

"Miss Oswald," he scratched the back of his neck and showed her a bashful grin that took away years from his features, "it seems that we are always bumping into each other these days."

Clara was about to say that they had already moved to a first name basis, but then it stroke her that the kids must be his and maybe... Oh, fuck. She watched as the little girl approached him to hide herself behind his legs, tugging at his trousers while the boy reached for his hand coyly. Both kids eyed her with immense curiosity and something about the boy reminded her of Malcolm. Maybe were the same intent gray blue eyes.

Right, so he was a father, which shouldn't be a surprise at his age. Of course that wasn't what was troubling her right now, but all the implications that could possibly come with it.

He didn't wear a wedding band, she would've noticed if he did it, but that didn't mean that he wasn't married; actually it didn't mean anything at all.

Well, Sam had never made any comments that indicated that he was married. And why should Sam do it anyway? And why on Earth she was thinking all that things about him if they only had a drink and chatted in a pub?

"Mister Tucker," she finally managed to say, ignoring what she thought was an amused glint on his eyes and looking at the children with a smile. The little girl smiled back from behind Malcolm's legs. Clara could feel his eyes studying her in silence. "That is really a surprise," she shot him her best smile despite herself.

Malcolm eyed her; a smug grin curved up the corner of his lips and replaced the initial shyness of few moments ago when he had been caught off guard.

"I can tell you the same," he tilted his head looking her from head to toe, examining her jogging clothes and making her feel almost naked for one moment. "Never took you by a jogging person."

"Oh, well," she blushed, didn't refraining her urge to tug at the hem of her hoodie, before she added, "I'm not." He quirked an eyebrow at that and she was forced to explain herself, feeling ridiculously nervous without any good reason unless his insistent look upon her. "Not really. This is just... Well, I enjoy walking."

He nodded slowly and showed her a small smile. "Walks are good, especially on a day like this," he looked around them before his eyes came back to her once more. The intensity of his gaze burned holes on her skin and she felt like the temperature had just raised ten degrees.

"Uncle Malc?" The little girl tugged on his hand making him lower his eyes at her. "Can we have some ice cream now?"

"Yes, Uncle Malc? Please?" The boy was looking at Malcolm with pleading eyes and pulled on his hand too. "Please?"

Clara felt a rush of relief at that single word. So he was their uncle. She pushed back a smile, but felt her cheeks burning when their eyes met once more, the sly smile on his face telling her that he knew exactly what was going on inside her head.

"No, sweethearts, you know the deal, no ice cream before lunch." The kids protested but he just smiled. "Besides," he peeked at his watch and lowered his hand to the boy once more take it, "it is almost lunch time, so you won't have to wait too long for your ice cream anyway. But you still have to deserve it, right?" The two children looked at him in expectation. "You still have to help me to collect all your toys and take it to the car. After that, we will have lunch."

"And then ice cream?" The boy's eyes grew in silent expectation.

"And then, ice cream," Malcolm smiled at them and once more his eyes searched for hers, making a shiver run down her back. "But, first things first. Where are our manners?" Immediately the two children looked at her. "Clara, these two little monkeys here are George and Emma, my nephew and niece. Kids, this is Miss Clara Oswald."

"Nice to meet you both," Clara smiled and George and Emma smiled back, the girl still half hidden behind her uncle's legs. Malcolm's eyes were still on her and she avoided his gaze before she could blush even more. Then he broke the silence to summon the children to the task to collect their toys before they would go.

Malcolm shoved his hands in his trousers pockets and quirked a cocky eyebrow at her, a shadow of a smirk on his lips. "So, missing me already?"

She couldn't help but chuckle at that. "It would be too devastating if I was just enjoying the sunny morning, Tucker?"

He watched the kids from the corner of his eyes for a second. "No, not too devastating," there was a teasing spark on his eyes, "but certainly a little disappointing."

They looked at each other for a moment and she couldn't help but think in how beautiful his eyes were.

"Well," he cleared his throat. "Would you like to join us? For lunch?"

Clara blinked in surprise. That was very unexpected, even after yesterday, as most of the things related to Malcolm had been since their first met. As much as the glint on his eyes tempted her, she didn't want to disturb even more his day out with the children, something she suspected he didn't do so often.

"It's very kind of you, but-"

"Did you have another plans?" He interrupted her and quirked an inquiringly eyebrow.

"No," she said sheepishly, "but I don't want to intrude."

"You won't. Or I wouldn't have asked you."

There was honesty at his tone and she watched him knelt at the grass to collect a doll near his foot and handed it to Emma with a soft grin, his eyes coming back quickly at her waiting for her answer. She avoided his eyes and watched the children, considering his words for a long silent moment.

"Maybe some other time," she said finally, glancing at him to catch his reaction.

\- 0 – 0 -

Malcolm nodded slowly and picked up the bag with toys George was handing to him. He hadn't expected her to accept it, after all having lunch with two noisy children, no matter how adorable they really were, could hardly be considered the best option for someone like her in a sunny Saturday.

Actually, he had invited her on an fucking impulse, loosing himself by the way she had arranged a strand of hair behind her ear and seduced by the pink of her cheeks when their eyes had meet. But he wouldn't be bothered if she had accepted it, on the contrary, he would be fucking delighted.

But since she hadn't... He bit the inside of his cheek. God, he was about to do that, wasn't he? Even with a list of a thousand fucking reasons he shouldn't. Not to mention that she would start to think that he was fucking desperate. Fucking fuck it.

"Right. Dinner then. Wednesday. At eight." It wasn't a question, it was a commitment and she looked at him in surprise, making him suppress a grin. He watched her carefully; secretly admiring the spark that lit up her eyes while her mind was still processing his statement. Until her face broke into a smile and he felt something shift inside him. He was really fucked, wasn't he?

"You're not one to give up easily, are you?"

"No," amused eyes looked at him and he tilted his head slightly, giving her a lopsided grin. "Not without putting a fight."

She chuckled. "Ok."

Malcolm's lips twitched in a smug smile. "I'll call you later, right?"

"Right," she smiled back. "I'd better be going," she finally said and walked a few steps from him to say her goodbyes to the children who were playing around a tree next to them. She turned around and gave him a little wave. "See you, Malcolm."

"Yeah, see you, Clara."

\- 0 – 0 –

He was restless, more than his usual for a still quiet Monday, staring at the rack inside his wardrobe from where dozens of ties hanged, unbelievable unable to decide for one. Fuck. That had never been a problem before. Why now then?

Malcolm crossed a hand through his face and glanced at his phone over his bedside table.

He should be rested and calm and not fidgeting like a fucking teenager unable to choose the right outfit. Weekend had been exceptionally good, starting with a really nice Friday evening with Clara, passing by a great Saturday with his family and a relaxing Sunday doing absolutely nothing. No crisis to contain, no speeches to finish, no press to deal, no fucking cunts to bollock in the middle of his well-deserved week break. And yet...

Fuck. He searched for her name at his phone and pressed the dial button. He would probably regret it later and could just hope not to wake her up. But that was her fault anyway. Hers and of her fucking gorgeous smile.

She answered it after the third ring when he was almost giving up his stupid idea.

"Malcolm?" She sounded really surprised and he couldn't blame her when he himself was astonished too. "Something happened? Is Number 10 on fire?"

"Not yet, sweetheart. I'm still at home." The sound of her small laugh pushed back his insecurities and he smiled, turning on his phone speakers and putting it over his bed.

\- 0 – 0 -

"So, to whom do I owe the pleasure?" Of having your sexy voice on my phone to bright my Monday morning, she thought. It was not that she wasn't expecting to receive his call; he had said he would do it to talk about his plans for dinner on Wednesday. She just didn't expect him to do it just on Monday morning.

"I need your advice."

She blinked. Now that was a little unexpected but not totally surprising since she had helped him last week with that entire Skinner thing. But then maybe he needed her advice for something related to their dinner?

"Ok," she sat on her kitchen table and waited for him.

"Best tie to go with a dark grey suit?"

She giggled. Unbelievable. She was prepared for anything but that, especially from him.

"Seriously? Never thought you would take that by heart."

"Well, if a beautiful woman tells you that your tie choices are crap, one has just to hear her, don't you think?"

Oh, he was good, the sexy bastard. But since he had called her, why not to play?

"Shirt color?" She played with the rim of her mug, trying to imagine his face.

"White."

"Humm... I would go with dark red."

He stood in silence for a moment. "Don't have one. Second best option?"

"You should put some more color into your wardrobe, Tucker," she smiled imagining the smile on his face. "Then light blue. Plain."

"Humm."

"What? No one?"

"Light blue with fucking little... whatever this fucking dark blue things are. Too bad?"

"Ok, not perfect, but acceptable."

"Acceptable?" He sounded a little offended and she chuckled.

"You are the one who called me for advice, remember?"

"Yeah. I really did it, didn't I?" She could hear the smile on his voice. "Maybe I should hire you as my fashion advisor, Oswald."

"You don't need one. Besides, you can't afford me."

"No. Probably not," he chuckled. "Thanks for you help."

"Any time."

Clara put her phone back on the kitchen counter still not believing on what had just happened. She smiled and drank the rest of her coffee. If that could be a sign, it would be a good week indeed.

It was with a pair of raised eyebrows that she met him later that day at DfT corridors. Malcolm gave her a quick glance while he held the elevator's door open for her and a couple of her colleagues to come in, stepping inside to lean at the back next to her.

From the corner of her eye she saw when his lips curled in an almost imperceptible way and he slightly lowered his eyes coaxing her to look a his chest. And then she saw it. A light blue tie. Plain. With no fucking little dark blue whatever. Probably Italian. And seeming brand new.

Clara bit her lower lip to hide her smile, from the others, because she was completely sure that he had caught it before he left the elevator in a hurry.

She was still smiling when her phone buzzed a couple seconds after he had left.

"_So, any thoughts?" _

She was forced to get down at the next floor because she was grinning like an idiot while she typed her question.

"_Have you bought a new tie?" _

His answer came fast.

"_Just took your advice seriously. What do you think?" _

She didn't know what to do of him. He was really full of surprises.

"_It looks good on you." _

This time it took a little longer until a new message flashed again on her phone.

"_Just it? Just fucking good?" _

Now he wanted a compliment? And why he was there anyway? He had jumped out of the elevator at the IT floor. What he had to do at IT? Then a strange thought crossed her mind. But then, no. He was always so busy that was almost impossible to think that he would be wandering around just to casually bump into her with his new tie. He wouldn't do that, would he? She shook her head; it certainly must have a good explanation. Yet... She bit her lower lip.

"_What are doing at DfT right now? Did you come just to show off your new tie?" _

He seemed to be expecting for that because his answer came too fast.

_"Don't change the subject. I asked you a question." _

She chuckled.

"_I'm not. You are. What are doing here anyway?" _

_"None of you business. ;-)"_

Well, at least he knew emoticons.

"_Right. Nice tie anyway." _

"_And?" _

Oh, he was impossible. She was pretty sure that he was smiling right now.

"_You won't let it go, will you?" _

"_No until you'll answer me." _

Right. She had to admit that the man had style. Besides, the tie color matched with his eyes. But she wouldn't give him too much.

"_Dapper." _

"_Ok. Better than good." _

"_Don't be so smug." _

"_I'm not. Still up for Wednesday?" _

"_Yep." _

"_I will call you on Tuesday. Gotta go. Late for a meeting." _

She shook her head. Smug bastard, he was definitely really impossible. And in that rhythm he soon would be the death of her.


	4. Something about weddings

_**Many thanks to misswinterseat for her help and support!**_  
_**And many thanks to all of you out there that are still sticking to this story with me.**_

* * *

_Malcolm and Clara keep meeting each other and with a little help of faith, things finally start to get to somewhere._

* * *

The front door had just closed behind her back when her phone buzzed with Malcolm's message canceling the dinner. Someone had fucked up and he was stuck at work with this colossal mess to mop up. The message ended with him telling her how terribly sorry he was and that he would call her as soon as he had a free moment.

Her heart instantly sunk. Not that it should be really a big surprise; Clara knew about the unpredictable nature of his work. Besides, Malcolm was a notorious workaholic. So, she shouldn't have felt like that, so utterly disappointed, although right now she couldn't say if the feeling regard him more than herself.

A heavy sigh escaped her lips. Why was she once more creating high expectations with someone who, frankly, she barely knew? Clara placed her phone over the coffee table, kicking off her shoes and collecting them to walk to her bedroom.

A bubble bath, warm and relaxing. That was exactly what she needed right now. It was a little consolation prize, of course, but it was the best she could do for herself under the circumstances. The smile she forced to her own reflection at the bathroom mirror looked more like a sad grimace that she decided to ignore, walking to the bathtub to open the tap. Listening to the comforting sound of the water run slowly, she grasped the idea with all her being; a long and relaxing bath and all her frustrations would be banned.

* * *

Submerged in the warm water, Clara lost track of time, her fingers playing slowly with the soft foam while she listened to the music from her iPod, the bathroom lit up only by the flickering lights of the aromatic candles.

Though the entire purpose of the bath was to take her mind away from anything, especially Malcolm, she had to admit that she should reconsider her musical choices. Every single song just seemed to keep her thoughts on him.

Yet, when she finally stood up and wrapped herself in a big soft towel, she felt more relaxed, a little sleepy, even if Malcolm's blue-grey eyes were still chasing her each time she closed hers.

Dressing in old comfy jammies, she walked to her kitchen with the clear intention of finding

something she could eat curled up in her couch in front of the telly. But actually, she never made it.

Clara could barely suppress a yawn, her eyes heavy with sleep made her give up her original plan to lie down on the couch in the living room. Wrapping herself in the soft blanket she had left there the night before, she felt asleep almost instantly.

* * *

The insistent ringing of her phone woke her up sometime later and Clara sat up startled. It took her a couple of seconds to understand where she was and what was happening before she finally reached for her phone, answering it without looking at the screen.

"Still mad at me?"

The familiar Scottish brogue finally made her fully awake. Malcolm.

"Well, I'm not. Why should I?" She let her head fall back onto the cushions, trying not to sound too happy that he kept his word and called her. "How are things going?"

"After running through a fucking minefield, now everything looks like heaven. Well, at least until tomorrow morning, that is," he sighed and sounded tired. There was a moment of hesitation before he continued. "Look, I'm really sorry about tonight, but I-"

"Please, don't be," she interrupted him with a soft voice and closed her eyes, the image of his handsome face clear in her mind. "It wasn't your fault, right? But," she stared at the ceiling and bit her lower lip, "You still owe me a dinner, Tucker."

His soft chuckle put a smile on her face. God, she was starting to love that sound.

"Yeah. I really fucking do," she could hear the smile in his voice. "How about now?"

The sound of the doorbell at her front door made her practically jump.

"What do you mean by now?" She furrowed her brows staring at the closed door. That wasn't happening, was it?

"Er... Now? Like in 'right now'?"

Another ring at the door. Was he... No, it must be a coincidence, right? He couldn't... Could he? She stood, staring at her phone and her front door in an instant.

"Malcolm?"

"Mmh?"

"Where are you, right now?" She finally asked him, after walking to her front door slowly, placing a cautious hand at the doorknob.

"Freezing, at your front door," he answered her and she opened her door to find him standing there, a clever smirk on his lips and a couple of bags in his hands, phone still pressed to his ear. "Hope you haven't dined yet," he added with a glance to the bags, sliding his phone inside his trouser pocket.

"I... didn't," she stood there just staring at him, dumbstruck.

His eyes wandered over her figure, a mischievous spark in the grey-blue of them, making her suddenly conscious that she was dressed in her old pajamas.

He cleared his throat; eyebrows lifted in expectation and when she looked at him momentarily confused, he added, sounding a little less confident than the minute before.

"Can I... come in?"

"Oh! 'Course you can. Please," she blushed, stepping aside to let him in, silently thanking herself for having tiding up the living room in the morning.

"Do you like thai?" He handed her the food bags. "I can call and order something else, if you don't."

"Oh, no, no! Thai is good," she smiled but somewhat she knew it came out wrong, still too dumb folded by him to act naturally.

"Good," he grinned, cunning eyes watching her carefully, his hands in the pockets of his overcoat making her notice that he was still in his outer garments.

"Right. You can hang your coat behind the door and make yourself comfortable," she glanced at the bags he had given her. "I'll take this to the kitchen."

After placing the bags over the kitchen counter, she crossed the living room with nothing more than a quick glance and a shy smile at him, disappearing into her bedroom to change into something more presentable. There was no way that she would dine with Malcolm, food from a take out or not, in her jammies. There, a pair of black jeans and a jumper would do it.

When she came back, he was standing in front of the large bookshelf in the living room, his long fingers trailing absently over the backs of the books. His overcoat and jacket had gone, as well as his tie, letting him only in his white shirt.

"Sort of a bookworm you are," he turned around to look at her, a small smile on his lips.

"Well, one is supposed to do a lot of reading to get a major in English," she approached him, letting the couch between them and resting her hands on the backrest.

"I wish I had more time for reading," he moved his hands to his pockets, eyes studying her. "Books, I mean. But lately, I'm happy with a fucking night of sleep."

"Or a good meal," she stated, eyebrows lifting slightly and he lowered his gaze to stare at his shoes quickly before he looked at her once more.

"Or a good meal," he echoed, his low chuckle rumbling inside her.

"Come on," she flashed him a grin while walking towards the kitchen. "Let's take a look on what you brought us."

* * *

They talked over dinner with an intimacy that Malcolm quite didn't know how to place. There was something about her, beyond the spell of her smiles, something hidden in the deep brown of her eyes, that never failed to put him at ease.

One could tell that he was starting to have hopes about this thing between them. But he wasn't naïve. Women like her didn't fall for men like him, not in real life at least. And why should she? She was clever and funny and kind, full of that passion for life and still so very young, with an

entire life full of adventures just waiting for her. So, no sir. No fucking way that she would be interested in him.

Yet, here she was, laughing at his poorly told jokes over a take out dinner and looking at him with eyes that told him things that he wasn't prepared to understand.

"You are doing it again," a shadow of a smile crossed her lips.

"Doing what?" He quirked one eyebrow at that.

"Making me talk about myself without telling anything about you."

"And why would I?" He smirked. "Don't want you to kick me out of your home after finding out that I'm fucking boring."

Her dark eyes studied him for a moment, completely dragging his attention, and he felt his cheeks unusually hot.

"You're anything but boring, Malcolm Tucker."

"Oh, but you should believe me," he offered to pour her another glass of wine and she gave him a quick nod, watching him to fill both of their glasses and place the emptied bottle aside. She kept her eyes trained on his, a silent challenge on them that made him finally chuckle.

"You don't give up easily, do you?"

"No," there was a smile playing on her lips and a spark in her eyes, teasing him, challenging him. And Malcolm felt his lips curling in a small smile that matched hers. "Ask me anything you want to know."

"Anything?"

"Anything," he surprised himself answering her, sure that there was a silly grin plastered on his face.

She looked at him for a quick moment until her eyes sparkled mischievously. "Why do you keep your hair so short?"

He blinked at her.

"You could've asked me anything and _this _is what do you want to know?" He snorted but ran a hand through his hair. His eyes searched for hers after he bit his lower lip in a rare display of insecurity. "Don't you like it?"

"No, in fact I do," she kept looking at him as if that was the kind of conversation they had everyday. "I just think you should stop hiding your curls."

"Ah." He let out a short laugh, really amused by that, ruffling his hair. "You're saying this because you didn't see it longer. It goes fucking wild. It can be seen from the outer space."

The sound of her laughter warmed his chest and he felt that strange pang in his heart. God, she was beautiful and he couldn't help but smile, eyes slowly peering through her face.

Later, he helped her with the dishes, ignoring her protests and when they finally finished tiding everything up in the kitchen, he gave his watch a quick peek. It was really late and considering that both of them still had to work next morning, reluctantly he decided that it was time to leave.

that both of them still had to work next morning, reluctantly he decided that it was time to leave.

Clara's eyes followed his every motion while he put on his jacket and overcoat. They stood at her door looking at each other for a silent moment, neither of them wanting the night to end.

"It was a lovely night," he finally said, shoving his hands into his pockets for not knowing what to do with them.

"It really was," a soft smile crossed her lips, her brown eyes still fixed on his, stealing the air from his lungs and he needed to avert his for a quick moment.

"I still owe you a proper dinner. With something better than fucking take out food."

"Well, I will hold you to that."

Her smile widened making his eyes wander between her lips and her fascinating sparkling eyes. God, he knew too well that tingling sensation on his lips, that feeling of falling that was growing in the pit of his stomach, the urge to kiss her making his mouth dry.

Malcolm gently placed a strand of dark hair behind her ear, his fingers lightly brushing her cheek, sending a rush of warmth through his body. He swallowed hard, fully aware of her closeness, of those brown eyes of her keenly looking into his, in silent expectation. The temptation of her sligtly parted lips was almost too much, an open invitation for him to loose himself in the sweetness of her. So why it was so hard to take the next step, to slowly lean into her and kiss her lips like his entire body yearned? He couldn't remember wanting something so badly and yet, something stopped him.

And there he was, shying away like a fucking teenager to simply brush his lips on her cheek in a chaste kiss, instantly hiding his hands back inside his pockets with a crooked smile because he just didn't know what to do with himself.

"Good night," his voice was hoarse when he finally spoke.

"Good night," she watched him stepping outside and he couldn't place the look on her face. Pity? Deception? "And Malcolm?"

He only lifted his eyebrows, not feeling able of articulate any word right now. "Don't become a stranger, right?"  
He managed a smile and was pretty sure that wasn't a very convincing one. "Yeah. You too."

She smiled back and closed the door. And for a moment, Malcolm felt like the entire world was about to collapse under his feet.

* * *

"Oh, for fuck sake!" Malcolm practically growled. A fucking kiss on the cheek? What the fuck was happening to him? He shut his eyes, bumping his forehead against the wall of the hallway.

But deep inside of him he knew exactly why he had stepped back at the last moment. Clara Oswald wasn't any woman. She deserved someone special, someone better than him at least. She had made an impression on him from the very first time he had laid his eyes on her not so long ago. A confident smile under a pair of piercing brown eyes that moved with the assurance of someone who knew her place in the world. But it had been the way she looked at him straight into

his eyes, a mix of amusement and curiosity, that had made him lost his trail of thoughts in the middle of a bollocking session.

Then, he had met her again at that bookstore and caught glimpses of her here and there at the corridors of the Government buildings, until the ball had happened. She had taken his breath away in that dress, which by the way she should be prohibited to wear in the galaxy for the sanity of men. And they had danced. And he had felt how good she fitted in his arms.

But it had been that morning at the park, when his treacherous heart had almost stopped functioning at the mere sight of her, that he had realized her constant presence in his thoughts. Her beautiful smile had brought back from the shadows something long time forgotten, something that he didn't dare to name it or give to much thinking about, until now. A wish, a hope, that maybe life could still have something good for him.

So here he was, the old fucking cunt, acting like a fucking hormonal teenager that didn't have the guts to invite his crush to the prom.

He casted a glance at her door, considering whether he should knock on it and give her a proper kiss goodnight or not. But then one of her neighbors emerged from the lift, giving him a wary look and Malcolm decided that it was time to go for good. Even if on his entire way home he fought against that feeling that kept telling him that, despite his own judgment, the night shouldn't have ended like that.

* * *

In the following days, work kept him at distance, giving him sometime to put things on perspective. He didn't call her, and not counting a couple of innocent text messages they had exchanged the day after the dinner, he hadn't heard about her either. And, despite catching himself thinking about her from time to time, Malcolm decided that her silence was answer enough for his doubts and kept avoiding any situation that could make them meet again. It was for the best, anyway.

Funny thing that life had different plans for them.

Malcolm had never been a violent man, well, not physically at least. He had learned since very young to wear words as his shield and arrows and mastered the skills along the years. But right now, he was pretty sure that he could kill Ollie Reeder with his bare hands if it weren't by all the mess of blood that that would leave behind and the fair distance they were from each other.

Infuriated, he shoved his phone back inside his trousers pocket after he had spat a series of profanities at Ollie's ears telling him what he should do with the DoSAC leaked report. He crossed the street, eyes still ablaze, barely registering the sound of the car breaks at his carelessly action.

And then, he was forced to stop on his tracks. Clara.

He watched her through the coffee shop window for an instant, all his problems vanishing away at her sight. Fuck him, he had missed her beautiful face, though right now, she looked a bit down. Her always sparking eyes stared dull at the phone over the table, while she sipped from her coffee cup and he felt that strange tightness that usually took over his heart every single time he thought about her, like his heart had developed a fault.

Shit. Not that he dared to think that those sad eyes of her were because of him, but yet, he couldn't avoid his own guilt for not having phoned her.

Malcolm bit his thumb. He should go away and run back to the ridiculous amount of work he had on his lap at the moment, especially after the last fuck up from DoSAC. But the problem was that he couldn't simply walk away. Or walk inside. God, he was really getting old. What was he afraid off?

She didn't see him until he was standing in front of her, hands in his pockets and a half grin on his face.

"Mind if I join you?" He looked at her, testing the waters. And when she didn't throw her coffee at him, he went on. "I promise I won't disturb your brooding moment."

"I'm not brooding," she furrowed her brows, dark eyes watching him for a moment longer before she motioned her hand for him to sit.

"Well, it looks like, from where I stand," he took off his overcoat and folded it, placing it at the empty chair by his side. "I will get a coffee first. Want something for you?"

"No, thanks. I'm fine."

"Right. I'll be back in a mo."

Five minutes later Malcolm came back with one coffee and two croissants, one of them he offered her after he took the seat in front of her.

"So, tell me, Miss Oswald," he looked at her, trying to look like more at ease than he really was, "what is this terrible thing that is worrying this pretty little head of yours?"

He casually sipped from his cup and watched her watching him for a moment too long for his taste, his confidence faltering a little under the brown of her eyes.

"A wedding," she sighed.

"Too fucking soon for a proposal, don't you think?" His lips curled in a cheeky grin that practically faded away under the look she gave him, like someone who was clearly dwelling between smacking him on the head and pretending that she had never listened to that.

Malcolm drank from his cup. Well, maybe he deserved both but, fortunately, she went with the last one.

"An old friend of mine invited me to her wedding and now I have to go," she said instead, her eyes disturbingly trained on him for one instant more before she lowered them at her phone again.

"Well, you can always send a apology card and a very expensive gift," he shrugged, taking a good bite of his croissant.

"Can't do it. She is a really good friend of mine. I have to go."

"Weddings are not really my thing, I'm fucking old. But you," their eyes met and he stopped himself before he just blurted out how beautiful he thought she was and how probably all the bachelors at the party would be mad or blind if they wouldn't instantly fall for her. Instead, he tried to seem nonchalant, before he added. "You're not. So it should be fun. Unless, you have a crush on the groom," he lifted one eyebrow. "Do you?"

"No!" She rolled her eyes at him. "The thing is..." She sighed, eyes quite not meeting his when

she blurted out without breathing. "It's just that a wedding is not the best place to show up alone when all your friends are happily engaged or married or gushing about their amazing newborns and utterly clever toddlers or..." She trailed off, blushing.

"Ah."

He studied her face for a moment, a thought crossing his mind. Malcolm bit the inside of his cheek. It was a very stupid idea, he was sure about that, and he probably would regret it before he finished his next sentence, and yet, he couldn't stop himself of blurting out the words.

"I'll go with you."

"What?" Her eyebrows rose a bit.

Fuck him. But now that he had said it he couldn't just fucking take it back, could he?

"You don't need to go alone," he cleared his throat. "I can go with you. As your plus one. I suppose you can take someone, can't you?" He took a large sip from his cup, his throat spectacularly dry.

"I...can," she was still staring at him with an expression that he couldn't quite place and he felt just like the old fucking idiot he truly was. Maybe she had already someone in mind and he had just got it all wrong. This was just starting to get out of control.

"Unless you already have someo-"

"No, I haven't," she cut him off too quickly.

Good, at least he was just half of an idiot now. Luckily, his phone rang and he was almost happy to see the name of the PM at the screen. Saved by the bell. That would give her sometime to forge a polite excuse for not accepting his stupid idea and text him later, saving them both of all the embarrassment.

"Need to answer that," he stood up with a faint smile. "Text me later, with the details and I will be there, right?"

She nodded and smiled at him, something that should be at least a little bit reassuring, but that made everything but. While he marched back to Number 10, barely registering what the PM was saying, he could only think how much he had cocked up.

\- 0 – 0 -

It was already dark outside when his phone buzzed with a message. He peeked at his watch and rubbed his tired eyes with the pads of his hands before he looked at his phone. A text from Clara. It had taken her long enough to come up with a dumping message.

"_Still up for the challenge?" _

Ok. Right. Not quite what he was expecting. He chewed his thumb. He had already come this far, so it was not the time to retreat.

"_I invited myself. Besides I do look good in a tux." _

He hesitated before he pressed the send button. Well, there was not a thing like half-fucked, so he was going for the full job.

"_Modesty is not really your thing. But hold your horses, tiger, a suit will do." _

Malcolm smiled. So, definitely not dumping him, then. Maybe life could still be good.

* * *

Clara still didn't know how it had happened, what had been her exact words that day that gave him the idea, though she was almost sure that it had all blurted out of her mouth as a kind of joke that he had taken seriously. And then he had looked at her with those big grey-blue eyes that hadn't betrayed any kind of emotion and... Oh, well, long story short, here she was, inside a taxi, dressed in her best frock and heading to her friend's wedding reception in a London posh hotel with no one else than Malcolm Tucker by her side.

She just couldn't figure him out, not that she was an expert in understanding man motivations, her past failed relationships a great testimony to that. But how she was suppose to know what to expect from him when in a moment he was looking at her with fire in his eyes like he was ready to kiss her and then he just disappears for an entire week to just show up from nowhere and offer to accompany her to a wedding?

The truth was that from the beginning, she liked him. She liked his sharp mind and very peculiar sense of humor and his gentlemanly manners. She liked even his very creative use of cursing, almost developed like new language. But his rare smiles, the honest ones that reached his eyes, that were her undoing. And for some time, she wished that they could be something else. But lately, she didn't know what to think about him anymore.

From the corner of her eye she observed him, sharp dressed in an Armani black suit, eyes glued at the screen of his phone while he muttered a flow of curses under his breath and typed something at it with his long and elegant fingers. And, oh, God, he looked good, not that she wasn't used to seeing him in a suit, but somehow tonight he managed to exceed her expectations.

Maybe it was because the suit was tailored to bring out the best of his lean figure. It also could be his hair, a little longer than usual exhibiting graying curls on the top that had been arranged with hair gel in a casual look. Maybe it was the way he had looked at her when they had met earlier, blue eyes sparkling at her sight making her blush. Or maybe it was just her imagination and silly expectations that he have any kind of interest in her.

She bit her lower lip. Well, he was there, wasn't he?

"So," he glanced at her, a smirk slowly showing up at his lips while he placed his phone back into the inside pocket of his jacket. "Tell me about the lions I have to face."

"Well," she cleared her throat trying very hard to concentrate in breathing and not at the mischievous glint of his eyes, "you already know that the bride is an old friend of mine."

"Maddie," he kept his eyes trained on her with interest.

She nodded. "Exactly. I have known her my entire life, actually," she needed to avert her eyes from him, his intent gaze making her lower her eyes on her hands that rested on her lap. "She is from a traditional family, you know. Kind of posh, connections with the royals, society pages at the papers and all that stuff."

He bit his lower lip, his long fingers tapering lightly over his knee catching her eye. And that was just... Distracting.

"Fuck," he sighed. "Press covering, then?"

Clara blinked and then the information seemed to finally click in her brain. How stupid of her. She hadn't given a thought about that before. Of course it was a possibility, though probably there would be only a few pictures of the bride and groom and their families. Despite her mother, Maddie herself wasn't that keen of publicity anyway.

There was also the fact that Malcolm himself, being her companion, wasn't at the guest list, so it wasn't like someone would be expecting to catch a glimpse of the PM's Director of Communications in a rare apparition at a social event.

"I don't think so," she finally said looking at him. "Look, I'm sorry, I really didn't thought..." She sighed, still trying to figure out how they both had gotten to that awkward moment. Maybe he wanted to give up. "Malcolm, you can always-"

"Hey, hey," he interrupted her with a gentle touch on her arm. "Don't need to worry. It's not like I can't fucking handle it, right?" He tilted his head, the street lamps outside the car window lighting up his eyes. "Besides," a hint of a smile crossed his lips, "I'm all dressed up. Too fucking late to give up. So, how will you introduce me? Your old uncle Jim?"

She rolled her eyes at him.

"I don't have an uncle Jim. Besides," she felt the heat on her cheeks even before the words left her mouth. "You are not old."

He lifted his eyebrows, blue eyes locked intently at her, but before he could say something, the car stopped. He paid the driver and helped her to get out, offering her his arm, which she gladly accepted, to lead her inside.

"So, no uncle Jim?" He whispered when they stopped outside the double doors of the great ballroom.

"Shut up!" She looked at him with a small smile and cleaned up imaginary dust from his shoulder, his eyes following her motions with interest. "Ready?"

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned and let her guide him inside when the doorman opened the door for them.

* * *

Inside the large room they were welcomed by the groom and bride families, all smiles and kindness in their joy of sharing that so precious moment with so darling friends, as the bride's mother happily said to them, immediately recognizing Clara.

"Clara, my darling girl! Maddie will be so happy to see you! Still as beautiful as always," the older woman smiled sincerely, eyes bright with pride watching her for a moment before they landed on Malcolm.

He kept himself just one step behind her and Clara could feel the warmth of his hand protectively hovering over her lower back, close enough to make her skin tingle in anticipation, but frustratingly never touching her.

"And who is this?" The older woman cast Malcolm a suspicious look, turning her gaze back to Clara waiting for an answer.

And that was more like the Mrs. Adler Clara remembered, always straight to the point, like a runaway truck. But before she could say a thing, Malcolm politely offered her his hand, a captivating smile on his lips and Clara could only pray for him not to jump at her friend's mother

neck with his usual ferocity.

"Malcolm Tucker," he gently shook Mrs. Adler's hand. "It's a delight to meet you, Mrs. Adler. And I'm pretty sure that if the bride looks half like her mother, she will charm us all in a moment."

Clara bit her lower lip to hide a smile when Mrs. Adler practically melted. Cheeky bastard. A little bit more of happy chatting permeated by the charms of Malcolm Tucker and a few moments later they took their places at the table that had been appointed to them where a couple of Clara's friends were already sitting.

"Cheap trick," Clara whispered at his ear when he pushed the chair for her to seat. "Oh, well, I could've bollocked her."

She lifted one eyebrow at him and he gave her a smug grin.

"That's what I thought."

* * *

He really didn't like parties and couldn't remember a single one where he didn't want to be somewhere else. If it weren't by the refreshing presence of Clara next to him, he was pretty sure that his brain would've already melted of sheer boredom. Actually, it almost happened at some point in the middle of the speeches. But then, she flashed him her adorable dimples and he practically lost himself in the dark of her eyes.

He was so utterly fucked. How had she bewitched him to come here? Because a pair of sad eyes had never meant much to him, so it could only had been a spell. He suppressed a sigh. Or perhaps his foolish heart jumping at the first opportunity of being with her.

Malcolm hid his face behind his glass while they watched the newlyweds having their first dance. Definitely, weddings weren't his thing. At least, now the real fun was about to begin.

"I'm impressed," her soft voice sounded near him, taking out of his reverie. His gaze landed on her gently, one lifted eyebrow asking her to go on. "Well," she smiled. "No cursing. Not a single look at your phone..."  
"I turned it off as soon as we got here."

She watched him for a moment, her dark eyes warming him. "The cursing or the phone?" "Ha-Ha. Both."  
"See? Unbelievable," she smirked. "You are really taking this very seriously."

"I always take things seriously," he almost smiled, eyes locked on hers. "But I think you'll have time to get used to it," the words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them and he needed to take a long sip from his glass.

He could feel her eyes upon him, watching him carefully, probably trying to figure out what the hell he was trying to tell her. Good if she could, because he hadn't the faintest idea. Then, before she could say anything and things just could become more awkward, he stood up, buttoning up his jacket and offering her his hand.

"Dance?"

* * *

Ten minutes of dancing in his arms and Clara knew that there was no other place she wanted to be. Damn this man and his fierce eyebrows and his intent and impossible eyes and his charming smiles! Every single point where his hands and fingers touched her were tingling, even over the fabric of her dress. His warm breathe on her cheek wasn't helping at all too, the urge of kissing him burning her from inside. She glanced up at him, their eyes meeting quickly, before she lowered her gaze again. God, she was dying for his kiss, but after the last time, she wasn't sure if he would accept that well. Besides, this wasn't the right place for doing it.

So, after a couple more of dances, she asked him for a break in favor of drinking something, strong a cold, before she could do something she could regret.

As if he could read her mind, Malcolm offered to fetch them something to drink, promising to meet her in the garden in a few moments. Her eyes followed him while he walked away before she was startled by the grip of a hand on her arm.

"Maddie!" Clara smiled at her friend. "Jesus, you can kill someone like that!"

"Sorry, Clara. I didn't mean to," the other girl laughed, her beaming face unable to hide her happiness. "So, is he your new man?"

Their gaze felt over the slim figure of Malcolm.

"He is not my man. He is just a friend."

"Well, you don't look at each other like friends do," Maddie flashed her a knowing smile. "At least, go for a good snog. He is totally sexy! Please, don't tell Mike I told you that," she said to Clara from over her shoulder before she disappeared among her guests.

* * *

He saw her as soon as he crossed the door that lead to the gardens, and once more her beauty stroke him. Walking towards her slowly, he took the time to admire her under the moonlight that seemed to cast a soft glow over her. She moved her head enough to see him, a soft smile lighting up her features and he felt his heart flutter.

Malcolm handed her one of the champagne flutes that she accepted with a smile and they both made a silent toast with a gentle cling of their glasses. From where they were, they could hear the sounds of the party inside, the music loud enough to get to them without being intrusive. The night was unexpectedly warm, despite the gentle breeze that made the few loose strands that fell from the bun on the back of her head sway slowly.

They stood side by side, facing the garden, and he could feel the warm of her closeness on his skin. The back of his hand brushed very lightly hers, a feather like touch, almost not there and the faint movement of her fingers against his was all the encouragement he needed. So he decided to ignore that feeling that told him how this could end up going wrong in so many different levels. She was there, so close, so real and he couldn't ignore anymore that force that kept pulling him to her.

Slowly, he removed the glass from her hand, placing it next to his at a table nearby, feeling the heat of her gaze upon him.

He watched her for a moment, eyes searching for any sign of discouragement from her. His fingers touched her arm, gently, and he stepped closer, giving her time to move away if she wanted.

"Will you be scandalized if a kiss you?" He whispered, his voice more hoarse than he expected it to be.

She didn't answer him immediately, her eyes wandering over his face for an agonizing long moment.

"No," her voice was a soft murmur. "But I surely will if you won't."

A shadow of a smile crossed his lips when he gently cupped her face before he finally closed the distance between them to finally press his lips on hers.

* * *

He kissed her, his lips warm and soft against hers, tentative at first and more confident after he felt her answering him. She placed a hand over his chest that he instantly covered with his. And she couldn't tell what surprised her more, the staccato beatings of his heart under her fingertips or the tenderness of his kiss, both almost a contradiction to the man that usually made junior ministers ran away with a tail between their legs with just one glance.

But then, she always had known that the real Malcolm was the man behind the scowls and ferocious words. And there he was again, kissing her like she was something rare, something precious, letting his walls down for a moment to make her melt in a kiss that told her more about him that anyone, including Malcolm himself, would ever be able to tell her through words.

It was Malcolm who broke the kiss, gently nudging her nose with his, his breathe uneven, his forehead touching hers for a quick instant before he moved away just enough to look at her.

There was a small smile tugging at one corner of his mouth, a different spark in his eyes when he looked at her, shoving his hands in his trousers pockets.

"Never took you for someone who would ask for permission," she teased him, eyes twinkling in the dark.

"Needed to be sure that you wouldn't sue me," he flashed a grin.

"Well, I may," she stepped closer, a hand slowly moving up the lapel of his jacket. "If you don't kiss me again."

He let out a short laugh, but immediately pulled her to him, an arm enveloping her waist before his lips claimed hers once more.


	5. Besotted

_**Sorry because it took me so long to update it and thank you all for keep reading this story.**_

_**Many thanks to misswinterseat for all her help and support!**_

* * *

Sam had noticed the change in his mood as soon as Malcolm had stepped into the office that morning. She knew him all too well to ignore the lightness in his mood and the different spring in his step, almost like he was genuinely happy. The thought brought her a twinge of sadness, not because she wasn't happy for him, of course she was, but because happiness, truly and genuine, wasn't a very common thing on him.

Not that Malcolm was prone to melancholy; on the contrary, the man had always a fire in him, a twinkle in his eyes that could as much inspire as frighten, though most people would only think the last one as true. Fortunately, Sam wasn't like most people and, along the years, she had learnt how to see right through him. Behind those fierce eyebrows and the fury of his temper, she knew that Malcolm Tucker, her friend, wished much more from his life than the thrill, ups and downs of the corridors of the British politics. Even if Malcolm himself, she was sure, hadn't the faintest idea of what.

Her Scottish boss shot up his head through the doorway, the usual predatory grin that curled up on his lips softened just a bit when their eyes met. Malcolm asked her for more coffee and turned on his heels, walking back to his office whistling a tune she couldn't recognize and she followed him with her eyes.

Sam grinned. That was really something new and stirred up her curiosity. Definitely something really good must've happened to him. His hoarse voice coming from behind the closed door made her barely suppress a laugh. Malcolm singing. That was something one didn't see too often.

So something really good, then, Sam thought, making her way to the corridors. Or could also be the first signs of the apocalypse, she shook her head with a broad grin on her face.

* * *

Malcolm took off his specs and threw the report over his table, letting out a frustrated sigh when some of the pages fell on the floor.

Christ! Why the fuck he couldn't just concentrate and finish this bloody report? Why his fucking stupid mind had to wander off to her every single moment?

He snorted. Who was he trying to fool? Of course that the memory of the taste of her lips, of how fucking right the curves of her body seemed to fit perfectly with the edges of his, were almost impossible to be beaten by any other thing in this world, much less for that pile of dog shit he needed to go through until he finally would be able to call this a day.

He ran a tired hand through his short curls.

Coffee. He needed some more coffee. Lots of it, to be honest. And someone to shout at. Yes, that would be good. A good bollocking would put him back on track again. Where was Ollie fucking Reeder when he needed him?

Sam came in bringing him another pile of files and for a moment he looked at her as if she had became insane. Fortunately, he stopped himself of making any stupid remark, remembering that he had asked her earlier to fetch them for him from the archives.

She glanced at the sheets of paper on the floor and lifted one questioning eyebrow at him that Malcolm just pretended to ignore, sliding his specs up his nose once more to peer inside the file at the top. A colorful and completely meaningless chart caught his attention and he let out a huff. Who had been the fucking useless cunt that had written that shit?

But Malcolm immediately jumped to his feet as soon as Sam knelt on the floor with the clear intention of cleaning up the mess.

"No, no, no, please, Sam. You don't need to do this shit," he gently pulled her on her feet again. "I will take care of this later, ok?"

He sat back on his chair and gave another quick glance at his phone, which lay still completely inert over his desk, before he decided to bury his nose in the reports again.

After a moment of Sam's silent scrutiny, he shot her an annoyed glance, because frankly, his thoughts alone were distracting enough for him also to be tormented by his PA.

"What?"

"You're fidgety."

Malcolm blinked, finally lifting his head to see the glint of amusement in her eyes. Oh, great.

"No, I'm not."

She tilted her head slightly and lifted her eyebrows so her eyes darting to where his hand was over the table and only then he noticed that he had been twirling a pen between his fingers and almost viciously tapping it over the desk. The annoying sound ceased instantly when he stopped the motion.

"Trouble?" her watchful eyes were still upon him and he felt trapped. Did she know about him and Clara? Maybe she did, the two women were friends after all, so it wouldn't be a surprise if Clara had told her. Malcolm watched her cautiously, clearing his throat.

"No," he searched for any clues of what she could know. "Just need to finish this fucking shit for tomorrow."

"Anything I can help with?"

He gave it a thought, sustaining her gaze. Maybe she didn't have a clue.

"I'm dying for a coffee."

Sam looked at him for a moment longer before she turned around and walked towards the door. "You are over caffeinated already, Malcolm."

"Yeah," he grinned, "And biscuits? Please?"

She rolled her eyes at him.

"The feast of champions," he heard her voice coming from the hallway a moment before she closed his office door. Malcolm chuckled, his treacherous eyes moving back to his stupid phone.

Shit.

How long should he wait to call Clara without looking like a fucking tit? Too quick and she would think him desperate. Too late and she would think him aloof. Malcolm bit his thumb. Oh, please, he was just getting too fucking old for that shit.

* * *

It didn't take long for Sam to reappear carrying a tray with a bowl of fruits and a glass of orange juice.

"What happened to coffee and biscuits?" He glared at the tray as if it was a mortal offense. The smug grin on Sam's face didn't go lost on him.

"One more coffee and you'll probably have tachycardia."

Malcolm scowled at her even if he knew that it wouldn't do anything to wipe that smirk from her face. She knew him all too well to take it seriously.

"I have bills to pay, Malcolm. I really need the job," she patted his arm fondly and walked away without waiting for his reply. "And, if you want to know my opinion," she said stopping at the doorway. "You should call her."

Malcolm almost choked on his juice. Oh, fuck. She knew. Clara had told her. And now she would tease him mercilessly. Yet, he tried to seem nonchalant.

"What?"

"Your friend. Or whatever you call her."

He stared at her and waited for an explanation because there was no fucking way he would give himself up. It could very well be a bluff.

"You keep looking at your phone with this puppy dogface like you are waiting for a miracle," Sam added when he remained silent. "So, call her first," she cast him an almost innocent look.

Dear Sam. Always observant. Always clever. Always taking care of him. He knew that most of the times he didn't deserve her friendship. But, even so, he wouldn't give her that much, not while he didn't know what would be of this thing between him and Clara. So he cocked one eyebrow at his PA and showed her his best dismissive grin.

"Don't know what gave you this idea, Sam, but-"

"Don't try to fool me, Malcolm Tucker," she pointed a finger on him. "I know you, better than you'd like, actually. So, honestly, do us both a favor and please, call her. And don't think that I'm doing this because of my altruism and undying devotion. It is my only hope for you to finish this any time before dawn."

He peeked at his watch only now realizing how late it was already, instantly feeling guilty for having keeping her around for that long. But before he could open his mouth to tell her to go home, she continued.

"I'll call us a take out and after that go downstairs to get us some office supplies. I'll let you know when I'll be back."

With that, she turned on her heels leaving Malcolm staring dumbly at the closing door.

* * *

It took him sometime to finally decide to call Clara. With an exasperated huff, he searched for her name and pressed the call button. Fuck it! If she would fucking dump him, it was better sooner than later after all.

"Malcolm!"

It was funny how his foolish heart almost jumped out of his chest over sound of her cheery voice. Was she smiling? Because he could swear there was a smile in her tone. Malcolm almost rolled his eyes at himself.

"Hey! Hope I'm not interrupting anything," he tried his best to sound less anxious than he was. "No, you're not. I was just about to go home, actually. You?"

So she was still at the office too. What a pair they were.

"Still at the office. Fucking long day."

She went silent for a quick moment, as if she was dwelling onto something.

"Any chance of you calling it a day soon? Maybe we could share a take out again?"

"Ah." Shit. He closed his eyes and scratched the back of his head, his fingers running through his short hair with deliberately strength. Fucking cunt of the PM and his fucking shitty report that his own stupid fucking mind wasn't able to finish. He stifled a groan. "Not tonight, sorry," he tried his best to not sound like a whiny tit. "It's just that I really need to finish something before I can even start to think about going home."

She went silent. It hadn't been more than half a second but the pause hurt his ears as much as the tone of her response.

"Some other time, then."

Was she disappointed? She sounded like she was. And he was feeling like the old fucking twat he was.

"Tomorrow? Maybe?" he was quick to make amends, not wanting her to think he was dumping her. "If you don't think it is too soon, that is."

Now he just had sounded like a fucking tit. Why couldn't he act like a normal person around her?

"Malcolm." And there it was again, a smile in her voice. "I had just asked you out for dinner. Tonight." He was completely sure she was smiling because there was a treacherous one curling the corners of his own mouth up too right now. The memory of her beaming face was able to do it with him, even when her smiles were at his expenses. But right now, he didn't mind it. "So," she added, "tomorrow can't definitely be too soon."

She had a point, of course. And he was a fucking idiot.

"Is this a yes?"

The sound of her giggle made the trick and that smile finally broke through his lips.

"Yes."

"Good," he added, his confidence coming back in full mode again. "And forget about take out, right? Still owe you a proper dinner out."

* * *

He took her to this place, a small restaurant practically hidden in the middle of a street full of Victorian houses. While they were guided to the back of the place into a more private area, Clara tried to contain her own surprise as much as not to focus at the warm touch of Malcolm's hand at the small of her back.

The waiter pulled her a chair and she sat with a small smile, her eyes taking in their surroundings with delight and curiosity while Malcolm unbuttoned his jacket to take the seat in front of her. It was unexpected, to say the least.

Pink blossoms cascaded from a glass-covered roof through which you could see the stars. Low lights, candles and a log of fire in a room decorated like a Tuscany Villa helped to compose what she could only think as a perfect atmosphere for a romantic dinner.

A little presumptuous for a second date (or a third if she counted the take out dinner at her place) and quite not what she had been expecting because, frankly, romantic wasn't exactly a word one would easily associate with Malcolm, even when she knew that there were so much more in him than what first was caught by the eye. And yet, here they were.

Her eyes finally moved back to him, knowing beforehand that she would find his disconcerting green blue ones watching her.

"You are too fucking quiet," he finally broke the silence, his elegant fingers shuffling with the menu over the table was the only sign of breaking his apparent calm façade.

She watched him for a moment, still unsure to where this would take them, though his choice for tonight was clue enough about his thoughts. Malcolm was no naïve and neither was she. They both knew all too well that no man would bring a woman to a place like this if he didn't want to make his intentions very clear. And Clara wouldn't lie to herself. She had wanted to be with him since that time at the bookstore when the world had stood still for the quick second their eyes had really met for the first time.

But then, she had furiously dwelled on whether or not she should invite him in the other night, when he had taken her home after the wedding reception, her mind spinning and her knees weak after he had kissed her again at her front door.

Clara knew better than to rush things. For a reason she wasn't still prepared to elaborate, she wanted something different from him. With him. Not just one more one-night stand that would fulfil her desires but would certainly leave her full of regret when she would wake up alone in her bed the next morning. Besides, there was still the matter that they worked together. Well, of course, not really together, but close enough to meet each other from time to time and to become a recurrent gossip and a collection of awkward moments.

His phone call the day before hadn't been exactly a surprise. But this place, right now, it surely was.

"I was just, you know," she made a small motion with her hand that he followed with his eyes, "thinking."

"That much I know," the corners of his mouth twisted up just enough to give away a hint of smug grin. "I could almost hear the engines of your brain working."

She blushed, but conceded him a smile while sustaining his gaze.

Fortunately, the waiter chose that moment to come back and she took the opportunity to secretly observe him while he discussed with the younger man about the options of wine and she pretended to be distracted with the menu.

"Are you trying to impress me?" she asked him as soon as they were alone again.

There was a smile in the twinkle of his eyes, one that didn't quite reach his lips, if too coy or too smug she couldn't decide yet. But it was one that certainly did an impressive amount of things with her.

"Is it working?" He tilted his head a bit, enough for the candlelight to cast flickers of gold in the blue and greens of his eyes.

"It might be," she almost smiled.

"Then I am," he gave her a lopsided smirk that elicited a small laugh from her.

"Never took you for a romantic, Malcolm."

"Ah," he bit his lower lip and her eyes followed the motion. Did he know how sexy that was? "I'm no fucking Romeo, if that is what you're thinking."

She lifted one questioning eyebrow to what he was forced to add, eyes shinning with mischief. "But I can make an effort. For you."

* * *

He kissed her goodnight in front of her flat building, in what he thought to be an almost repeating of the moment they had the other night. Though this time it felt different. There was urgency in the way her lips were pressed against his, in the way she trembled slightly when he cupped her face and his fingers brushed the skin on her neck. An urgency that mirrored his own and that gave him hope that this time the night might not finish just as soon.

Then why was his heart pounding so heavily when she pulled him by the hand through her building's door, a small smile playing on her lips when she asked him to come upstairs? Why was his ribcage so small to his lungs and heart when she kissed him again inside the lift, her teeth grazing his lower lip purposefully?

"Something to drink?" she asked him from over her shoulder, throwing her keys casually on the coffee table on her way to the kitchen. She was probably expecting him to follow her and not to be frozen at her front door, hand on the doorknob as if he was about to leave. "You ok?" she looked at him, her eyes widening just a tiny bit in concern.

And Malcolm could just let himself drown into them, those beautiful pools of golden brown that carried inside the light of the stars.

He shook his head slowly and closed her front door behind him, never moving his eyes away from hers while he approached her. "Believe me," he whispered, "I'm more than ok." He slid his hands over her arms to rest on her waist, gently pulling her into him until her body was pressed against his and his lips brushed hers. Her arms flung around his neck, fingers searching for the short curls on the nape of it, sending a shiver down his body. A light flick of his tongue on her upper lip and she opened up to him responding to the kiss with the same passion.

She pulled his jacket down off his shoulders and it landed on the floor next to them with a soft thud. Her fingers started undoing the buttons of his shirt and Malcolm let his lips move to her neck, kissing and nibbling at the sensitive skin, eliciting a moan from her.

Her hands slid over his bare chest, soft fingers running down his skin to his stomach, searching for his belt buckle. Malcolm smiled against her skin, gently taking hold of her wrist to stop her. Even if he was hard already, he really wanted to make this right and pleasure her first; the gentleman in him wouldn't have allowed it differently. Besides, he was pretty sure that he wouldn't last long if they went at her pace.

"We are in a hurry, aren't we?" His voice was rough with want when he pulled her hands back to his chest and kissed her, his tongue teasing her mercilessly.

"Your fault," she breathed at his lips, back arching while he explored her collarbone with his mouth and tongue.

He chuckled, moving his head just enough to look at her. So beautiful. Now even more with her darkened eyes, flushed cheeks and swollen lips. All he wanted was to see how she would look like, falling apart under his touches.

"No," he gave her a wicked grin. "Definitely yours."

Malcolm leaned into another kiss, more intense this time, his lips crashing onto hers passionately. His hands slid down her waist to pull her skirt up slowly, fingers running up to her thighs. It marvelled him how right she seemed to fit into his arms, how perfectly the curves and softness of her body completed the rough edges of his.

She broke the kiss breathless and pulled him towards her bed, grinning mischievously. Her small hands helped him to get rid of his shirt and when Malcolm was about to return the favor, peeling her from her blouse, his phone rung inside his trousers pocket causing him to practically jump.

Malcolm cursed mentally. In the heat of the moment he had forgotten to turn it off. And of fucking course, from all the moments the PM could have chosen to call him, he had to do it just now.

"Can't you just..." She moaned in frustration, letting herself fall heavily on the bed beside him when he pulled his phone out of his pocket with a string of profanities under his breath.

"Sorry," he ran a hand through his hair glaring at the phone. "Fuck. I can't. Not this one."

Clara lifted her eyebrows and he nodded. "So is this..."

"Yeah," Malcolm sat at the bed and kissed her hand, trying to smile. "Don't go anywhere, right?"

Clara sat by his side and ran her fingers gently on his cheek, kissing him softly. "I wouldn't dare. Now, go. Be quick."

It didn't take him much to talk to the PM and come back to the bedroom where Clara waited for him still in bed. The look on her face told him that she had already figured out that their night was over for now.

"So, is it that bad?"

"Yeah," he let himself fall on his back beside her. "Fucking shit storm."

She shifted on the bed and hesitantly snuggled into him, moving her hand slowly to rest on his bare chest. Malcolm adjusted himself to put an arm around her, pulling her close to him and watching while her delicate fingers played with the dust of silver hair on his torso.

"Any chance of you coming back later?"

Malcolm covered her hand with his, entwining their fingers with a low sigh.

"I would very much like to. But honestly, I doubt it. It is a big cock up. It will cost me some time to clean up this one," he turned his head to look at her, eyes full of expectation. "Can I call you? Tomorrow?"

She propped herself at one elbow to better see his face, a soft smile playing on her lips. "You can call me any time you want."  
"Any time?"

"Well, I'm a bit grumpy in the wee hours of the morning," there was a teasing spark in the dark of her eyes when she shortened the distance between them, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw. "But, yeah, you can," she added before she placed a warm kiss on his lips.

* * *

It took him almost three days, a lot of work and a good dose of luck to take the attention of the press and the general public off the incident with the junior minister.

Three fucking days of dealing with journalists, fucking tabloids and the entire solid shit that ran free and wild on the web and the fucking social media. Everything because a twat of a fucking Oxbridge that dared to call himself a junior minister had pulled an all-nighter under too generous doses of whiskey in the company of a woman that wasn't his wife by his side at the passenger seat of an indecently expensive sports' car. And, besides having being photographed in a place of suspicious reputation by someone who obviously had decided to have his five minutes of fame at the social media, the stupid cunt ended his night of shenanigans causing a car crash with, thanks God, no one except himself injured.

It would've been simple if the man in question weren't one of the golden boys of the party, a young and charismatic chap who had built a solid career and many were those who thought of him with a good potential to become the PM in a non very distant future.

And because the PM had personally asked him to treat him good, Malcolm had done his best, trying to keep his game on top to clean this one, pulling his strongest skills and best contacts to make the boy not looking like the little shit he really was. But even Malcolm couldn't win every fight.

It was a stab at the heart of the party and an unexpected jackpot to the opposition when the news started to come out, making his anger and frustration escalate insanely. Especially because he knew the fucking twat didn't deserve any effort to get out of that.

Why the man had done what he had done was a mystery to him. In one single night he had

committed political suicide and brought a dark cloud over his personal life. One single mistake.

Malcolm wasn't a naïve, he knew more than anyone that people, human beings were defined by their failures as much as by their victories. We all make mistakes in the end. Some people more than others, some mistakes more severe than others. Some would learn from their mistakes while other would barely recognize it in the end. Human nature. Life. Business as usual.

The problem was that people like them, who lived under the scrutiny of the public eye couldn't afford to make mistakes, especially big ones like that. And as no one was above the law, the poor bastard, a country servant, would be called to pay his account to society.

Resignation had been the best option, though things could've been nastier if the PM himself didn't have the man into some account. So it all came out to the press like an agreement that after the gravity of the facts, there wouldn't be more conditions for him to continue to work in the government.

For Malcolm it would've been two and half days of unending fucking hell if it weren't for the only spray of color in what he had always considered his gray life. Clara.

Now, while he was driving home, completely knackered after practically days of non-stop working, his clothes of yesterday uncomfortably sticking to his body, he couldn't have been more happy for having made the time to call her in the middle of all that shit storm.

Her voice on the phone was able to arouse in him so many different feelings that he felt dizzy by just trying to understand them. It soothed him, like he was transported to a different place, thousand of miles away from the madness surrounding him. It made him feel light weighted, as if his feet were off the ground. But it also made his heart beat faster, butterflies in his stomach with the sound of her laughter, a thrill running down his spine at the memory of her warm lips against his, her soft skin under his fingertips.

Malcolm smiled. He had invited her for dinner the next day. And she had said yes. And that couldn't be more perfect.


	6. Nothing according to the plan

_**Thank you all guys for your comments and for continuing to read this story! A big special thank to misswinterseat, whose kind words and help are always a great incentive to keep me writing.**_

* * *

Clara peered at her watch as if it would make time pass faster. She had been standing outside his front door for the last five minutes, well, almost six now. Not because Malcolm hadn't come to open the door, of course not, she needed to ring the doorbell first if she was expecting him to do it.

Eight o'clock, he had told her and of course it had been the exact time she had hopped off the taxi in front of his house; she and her freakish need to be always on time for any appointment. Clara bit the inside of her cheek, thinking that she shouldn't feel so anxious for this after what had already happened between them last week. Yet, she couldn't avoid this feeling in the pitch of her stomach, like she was again on her first date ever.

She took a deep breath. Was seven past eight enough a delay to still be considered elegantly on time without making her look desperate or too keen? Giving a last look at herself, she smoothed the fabric of her dress under her coat and walked the final steps to Malcolm's door before someone would report her to the police. Or worse, Malcolm would see her, standing outside his door like a stalker.

Why was she feeling like that? Things where progressing smoothly between them, Malcolm had even called her in those days after their last date; the one that had been so abruptly interrupted by the PM call. Three times actually. One of them had been a particularly long talk, late at night, after she had had a terrible day, working problems combined with an uncalled disastrous encounter with her stepmother, leaving her too much stressed to sleep. So she had texted him and he had called her immediately. Malcolm hadn't made any comment, but as if he had sensed her distress, he kept talking to her for a long time, the kindness in his voice and his soft brogue taking away her troubles like magic. She closed her eyes, the memory still fresh putting a silly grin on her face. He could be rather sweet, this so-called Dark Lord of Westminster.

Her hand hovered over the doorbell for one second before she pressed it, a smile still playing on her lips. No, there was no reason for her to be anxious. She just should let things go and everything would be just fine. He was a nice man, sharp minded, sexy as hell and she really wanted to know him better and see where this would take them.

Malcolm emerged from behind his front door with a soft smile on his lips and when his eyes lingered on her appreciatively she felt a rush of heat running down her body. She watched him watching her for a quick moment until he stepped aside to let her in, his fingers brushing lightly against the exposed skin of her arms while he helped her out of her coat and butterflies flew wildly in her stomach.

They stepped into his living room and she took in her surroundings. His place was very different from what she had anticipated and yet, now that she was beginning to see him, not that much surprising at all.

There was comfort in there, not only the one money could buy, so easily spotted in the expensive furniture and decoration of evident good taste. No, there was more, a warmth, a coziness hanging in the air and curling around every little detail in this part of his house she could see now; in the way the pillows were slightly disarranged at the over sized couch, like someone had just been lying in there a moment before; in the few paintings hanging on the walls; in the well stocked wine wooden rack near the kitchen entrance; in the impressive collection of books, CDs and LPs filling the shelves that covered an entire wall. It wasn't a heartless place, there was care, more than one would expect to find in a bachelor's home, especially one who spent so very little time at home like him.

But then it crossed her mind that it was just because of that. Malcolm spent most of his time at work, always running, always in the eye of the storm that the least he deserved in the little moments he was out of it was to come back to a place where he could really feel like home.

Soft music came from an old record player that rested at one corner and the wonderful smell coming from the kitchen filled her nostrils. He had told her, like he was bragging about it, that he would cook them dinner. And as far as the smell could be considered as a testimony of his cooking skills, it would be a wonderful meal.

But then the sight of a clarinet resting in a support in front of the bay window, near the small kitchen table, put a smile on her lips. That was new.

"So, you are a musician too?" She turned around to look at him and Malcolm scratched the back of his neck before he ruffled his own hair, a faint blush on his cheeks for being caught.

"Not really," he gave her the most endearing coy smile, lowering his gaze for just a second before he looked back at her. "I used to play for fun. Never been really good at, though."

"You are really full of surprises, Malcolm Tucker."

His smile widened at that and he closed the distance between them, tilting his head just a bit, looking down at her.

"Nah, I'm kind of fucking boring actually," his hands came to rest on her forearms before they slid to her waist. "I'm just fucking lucky you haven't realized it yet."

He leaned into her and she went on her tiptoes to meet him halfway in a tender kiss, her arms coming to close around his neck.

"I'm glad you came," he said in a low voice, a light spark in the green blue of his eyes.

"I'm glad you asked me to."

They smiled at each other for a moment, until he grabbed her hand to pull her into the kitchen, pouring her a glass of wine after she acquiesced.

* * *

The dinner was delicious; though it hadn't gone unnoticed on her that Malcolm hadn't really eaten more than a couple of bites from his own plate. But she hadn't elaborated much about that because there was too much going on between them, Malcolm being once again charming and sexy. It was almost too easy to talk with him, though she was aware that the wine had a great role in making them become more and more comfortable with each other.

After they finished, they still stood at the dinner table, too absorbed into each other to remember to move to a more comfortable place. He was talking about Glasgow, telling her about places and things he had seen, his long fingers distractedly toying with the ring she wore on her little finger. It should be something almost innocently, though she was pretty sure he knew exactly what he was doing.

He emptied another glass of wine, his fingers stopping his motions for a quick second when she thought he looked paler than in the moment before. But then he blinked and smiled at her, asking if she wanted to move to the living room.

Clara was aware of his intent gaze upon her, while he walked just a step behind her, carrying the bottle of wine and their glasses with him. She made herself comfortable on his couch, taking her shoes off and pulling her legs under her when she sat. Again, she had that impression that there was something odd going on with him, but she dismissed the feeling quickly when he gave her a lopsided grin.

"Dessert?" He rubbed his hands together after he had placed the bottle and glasses on the coffee table.

Her lips curled into a smirk at the though that the only dessert she could wish for right now was him. Probably guessing her thoughts, he approached her, sitting by her side, fingers gently pushing back a strand of hair to behind her ear.

"Really sure you want to dismiss a delicious bowl of strawberries with chocolate?"

His gaze wandered from her eyes to her lips and back and she felt her mouth dry. But then his smile faltered and he became white as a sheet of paper.

* * *

He felt dizzy as if the ground had been suddenly pulled under his feet, this huge wave of nausea hit him and he felt grateful for being sat.

"Malcolm?" He was aware of Clara's concerned voice coming from near him, but he couldn't focus his eyes as the entire room seemed to twirl around him. Her warm hand came to his arm. "Are you alright?"

No, he wasn't. But he would be. He needed to be. And fucking soon.

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to control his discomfort and lifted his hand in a failed attempt to tell her that everything would be all right, but his trembling hand did nothing to help.

"What are you feeling?" She helped him to lean back, her voice as gentle as the hand that kept holding his.

He was just about to make a fool of himself in front of her at any moment now, the nausea growing and beads of cold sweat forming on his forehead and over his lip.

"I will get you some cold water, ok?" Her voice was calm despite the clear worry in her eyes and he knew she was trying to not make a fuss about it, for which he was really grateful.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned, one of his hands coming to wipe his face. He felt the imminent disaster coming and forced his legs to stumble to the restroom reaching the toilet just in time to throw up in there. To his embarrassment or luck, he didn't have the minimum condition to decide which, Clara had followed him inside and helped him to sit down in the floor when his knees went weak.

Lurching forward violently, he spilled the contents of his stomach on the toilet once more and wished he could just die in there because Clara was seeing him like that. Maybe he would, considering how much the room continued to spin around him and how his body was now cold and sweaty. He already could feel the fabric of his damp shirt clutching onto his skin. Malcolm wanted to tell her to go. She didn't need to watch that horror show, but he was feeling so terribly bad that he wasn't really able to speak. So he just accepted his misery and shame and let her stay there, sat on her knees next to him, offering him comfort, gently rubbing his back and supporting his head when he needed it.

He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, feeling too weak and too embarrassed to look at her right now, but knew she was moving around, his foolish heart constrict at the lack of her hand on his. The sound of the toilet being flushed followed for the water running at the sink told him that she wasn't leaving. Not yet. He felt a damp cloth gently pressed on his forehead and at the nape of his neck and finally opened his eyes to look at her.

"You shouldn't be doing this," his voice was weak and cracked, his throat sore.

"'Course I should," her tone was gentle and warm and she instantly stopped his mild protests. "And I will, so save your energy for other battles."

"Clara..."

She placed a gentle finger on his lips.

"Shush," she brushed his damp hair from his forehead. "I'm staying and you don't have a vote on this."

He sighed and closed his eyes again, feeling weak, but undeniably moved by her care. She probably wouldn't ever want to see him again after that and he couldn't blame her, because frankly, this was just ridiculous. He groaned, covering his face with his hands.

* * *

"We're fucking doomed," the words were murmured against his palms and she wasn't sure she had heard it right.

"What?"

He lifted his head just enough to look at her, his greenish face telling her that he would throw up again at any moment, the poor thing.

"Doomed," he repeated, his voice hoarse.

She touched his cheek lightly, gentle eyes trying to tell him things that even she wasn't aware about yet.

"Why?"

He closed his eyes and furrowed his thick brows, his face turning white and Clara prepared herself for another round that didn't come.

"Every time we're getting close to..." he trailed off probably fighting the nausea before he continued, "something happens."

Clara couldn't prevent a small laugh of leaving her lips and he looked at her, miserable and slightly offended at the same time, making her feel guilty.

"I'm sorry," she ran her fingers through his hair, pushing back a smile. "We're not doomed. We will find the right moment."

He opened his mouth to say something but she saw the exact moment that he was hit by another wave of nausea, his body folding over the edge of the toilet to throw up again. She helped him, cleaning his face with a wet cloth from the beads of cold sweat.

"Here," she placed a glass of water in his hand. "Drink it slowly, even if just a little bit. It would make you feel better."

His hand trembled when he took the glass to his lips and her hand immediately covered his, helping him to drink. They stood there for sometime, in silence, until the color started to come back to his face. Clara placed a hand on his forehead, feeling him warm, but fortunately not enough to be running a fever. With his eyes still closed, he took her hand in his.

"You should go home."

"I've told you so. I'm not going anywhere," she rubbed gentle circles with her thumb on his hand. "But you are going to bed, mister. Do you think you can stand?"

He opened just one eye to look at her. "Can't I just stay here?"

The hint of humor on his tone send a wave of relief into her, telling her that he should be feeling better than he looked at least.

"No, you need to rest, in somewhere more comfortable than the cold floor," she stood up and offered him her hand. "Come on, I will give you a boost."

This time he opened both of his eyes to watch her and she instantly caught the mixture of disbelief and amusement in them. How could someone whose face was still half green half grey with nausea look at her so cheekily?

Clara rolled her eyes at him.

"I'm stronger than I look. Now, come on," she tugged on his hand, "stop being an ass and give me a hand."

She took the hint of a dimple at one of his cheeks as a good sign and, grabbing both of his hands, she used her weight to help him back on his feet holding him by his waist to keep him steady.

"You ok?"

He nodded slowly, taking a deep breath.

"Just a little dizzy," he said, giving a quick squeeze at her hand.

"Ok, take your time. We won't move until you feel better."

He took another deep breath and walked to the sink to wash his face and hands with cold water and she gently helped him to dry, even under his mild protests.

They made their way to his bedroom upstairs slowly and she made him sit on the edge of the bed to take his shoes off and help him out of his shirt, ignoring all of his mild attempts to dissuade her. He took hold of her wrist when she searched for his belt buckle, but she didn't move her hand, looking him straight in the eyes instead.

"Now you're just being stubborn, Malcolm. Let me do it, right?"

Malcolm watched her for a moment. He should've insisted and not allowed her to do it, but he was feeling tired and dizzy, his entire body was aching and all he needed right now was to lie down. So he just nodded and let her undress him and pull a clean t-shirt over his head.

"I'll bring you some water and a bucket, in case you need it. Meanwhile, be a good boy and just rest."

She cupped his cheek and he leaned into her touch, a small smile on his lips when he closed his eyes with a low hum.

* * *

He woke up sometime later, still feeling sore and nauseated and without any memory of Clara coming back. He must've dozed off as soon as his head had hit the pillow. It was still dark and he didn't have the faintest idea of how long he had been off. The house was silent and probably Clara had gone home already. Even knowing that it was just natural, he couldn't help but feel a little sad with her absence. Malcolm closed his eyes thinking about going back to sleep when a sound coming from downstairs startled him, making him sat on the bed a little too quick for his current situation. He closed his eyes opening them again only when he felt the room stop spinning and the nausea subsided.

Again, sounds coming from downstairs told him he wasn't alone at home and he decided against his sore head and crumpled muscles to go to check on it. Slowly he made his way down, feeling the cold floor under his bare feet and not caring to put something over the t-shirt and pair of boxers he was wearing.

Fuck, his mouth tasted like he had eaten an old umbrella and his head pounded as if it had been fucking hit. But the sight of Clara Oswald at his kitchen, wearing his apron while she stirred a pan with something that smelled really good even for his upset stomach, was almost like heaven.

"You're here."

She turned around, startled by his voice and her brows furrowed in worry.

"You shouldn't be out of bed."

He walked into the kitchen to seat at one of the chairs.

"And you shouldn't be still here," the words didn't came out in the way he had planed and he hurried to correct himself. "What I'm trying to say is that you've fucking done already too fucking much. You don't need to go into so much trouble for me."

"Not at all," she smiled. "At least aren't you happy that I'm still here? Not even a tiny little bit?"

Malcolm smiled sheepishly and reached out for her hand, not trusting his legs to carry him to her. Fortunately, she took pity on him and approached, holding the hand he had offered to her and offering no resistance when he pulled her gently into him, resting his head on her shoulder, feeling so comfortable at that as if they've done this their entire lives.

"I'm more than happy, sweetheart. And I'm really, truly fucking grateful."

Her free hand came around his neck and she gently ran her fingers through his hair, making him close his eyes and hum in contentment. Everything was just so easy with her.

"You don't need to be. I care for you, Malc," she whispered into his ear. "A lot."

Malcolm slowly opened his eyes, the weight of her words sinking into him as he silently asked himself what good he had done to deserve this beautiful woman in his arms right now.

"I would kiss you right now if my mouth didn't taste like I have eaten my fucking dirty socks."

Her bubbly laughter filled his heart with warmth and he tightened his arms around her, a low sigh escaping his lips when she kissed the top of his head.

"Feeling better, then?"

"Right now? Fan-fucking-tastic," he nuzzled into her hair.

"Enough to eat something?"

He lifted his head to look at her.

"Not sure if I can."

"You should try. It would make you feel better," she played with that stubborn little lock of his hair that rested around his ear. He was already in need of a trim, but right now he couldn't be happier that he hadn't found the time for it yet.

"Don't get me wrong, it smells really fucking good," his eyes were locked on hers and Christ, she was just fucking beautiful! "But I really..."

She placed one finger on his lips.

"You are like a stubborn child, Malc," she smiled at him. "Let's do this, you go upstairs and take a shower while I finish the soup. Then you'll try to eat, just a little. It will make your stomach better."

He sighed.

"And I am the fucking stubborn one," he said, his lips curling into a small teasing smile.

"Have you eaten something today? You barely touched your dinner earlier and I bet that this is what had upset your stomach. Coffee and Red Bulls, not to mention the wine, are not meals in case you still don't know."

He stood up without letting go of her hand.

"Oh, have you been talking to Sam?" He walked away slowly, casting a glance from over his shoulder before he disappeared upstairs. "You two should join forces."

"Don't push your luck. I have her number, you know," he heard her voice before he reached the upper floor, a smile crossing his lips while he walked into his bathroom.

* * *

Malcolm still didn't believe that Clara had convinced him to call in sick the next morning. He had already gone to work in worst conditions and couldn't even recall last time he had done such a thing. Of course she had threatened him with calling the PM herself if he didn't call Sam to warn her he would stay at home to recover from last night's episode, but the truth was that she didn't need to do that.

He would've done anything she would ask him to just for the sake of waking up another morning with her wrapped around him, even if nothing had really happened in the night before.

She had spent the night by his side, in his bed, taking care of him. Not that he had truly needed someone to keep an eye on him, but he was still feeling miserable after all and being the old selfish prick he was, he didn't want to let go of her just yet.

She had borrowed one of his t-shirts to sleep, long enough to get almost to her knees, and gotten under the covers next to him, her soft fingers playing with his curls lulling him into sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night, they must've shifted because he had opened his eyes in the morning to find her arms around him, her head on his chest and their legs entwined and he couldn't remember last time he had felt so happy in the morning.

Now, while he sat on the bed watching her adjusting her hair in front of the bathroom mirror, he marveled himself with the domesticity of all that.

"Don't forget to eat and drink water, Malcolm. You need to rehydrate," she walked back and sat next to him in the bed. "Promise me."

"Yes, boss," he reached for her hand and pulled her into a soft kiss. "I don't know if I could even properly thank you for everything you are doing."

"Hmm, I may have one or two ideas about that," she stood up and walked away, throwing him a mischievous smile from over her shoulder before she stopped at his bedroom door. "Now be a good boy and rest. I'll call to check on you later."


	7. There is a first for everything

_Thank you all guys for reading, kudos and your kind comments! It always make me so happy!This chapter is shorter than usual and has not been reviewed by my lovely beta misswinterseat (for a very good reason ;-) ) then all errors and attacks against english grammar are entirely my fault._

_As always, your comments, thoughts and kudos will be very appreciated!_

_**#**_

Clara gave a quick glance at her watch and turned her attention back to her computer screen, typing fast and furiously. Things had gone crazy in the morning. With Dave out of the city due to a family emergency, Skinner's speech for the next day's conference had fallen onto her lap. Not to mention that she had been called to replace Dave and accompany the minister to Brussels for the conference, meaning that, as soon as she'd finished the speech, she would have to run back to her place to pack a bag for the next two days and meet the minister at the airport later for a night flight.

It would be just another day in the office if not by Malcolm. It was true he had looked better in the morning, but yet, it had cost her a lot to leave him by himself after he had been so miserable the night before. She had called him earlier, close to noon and when he hadn't answered the phone, she had texted him. His answer had come after some time, telling her that he was feeling better and thanking her again for last night.

Clara knew she shouldn't be so worried. He was a fully-grown man, completely capable of taking care of himself and everything would be just fine if he could force himself to rest, eat and drink properly. And that had been exactly the problem, she sighed. Clara was pretty sure that had been just the lack of all that that had caused his misfortune the day before.

But a familiar voice coming from the end of the corridor interrupted her train of thoughts and made her practically freeze in her place. It couldn't be, could it?

She couldn't avoid glaring at him while Malcolm crossed the room straight to Skinner's office, phone pressed to one ear, a pile of files under his other arm, so concentrated in avoiding eye contact with her that she would've laughed if it were any other situation.

Of course Malcolm couldn't stay at home and rest for one day, the freaking workaholic he was. Even if he was evidently looking better, he still didn't look like himself either, the dark circles around his eyes and his pale skin still worrying her.

He stopped at Skinner's office's door glancing at her, his eyebrows moving up just a little bit as if he didn't have the faintest idea why she was still staring at him like that. Clara couldn't decide if she wanted to smack him on the head or take him to her place, tuck him in her bed and cuddle him until he became to look like a decent human being again, the idiot.

She moved her eyes back to her computer screen, her cheeks flushed, feeling something between annoyed and concerned. But then, unable to contain herself anymore, she grabbed her phone and texted him, consequences to be damned. Besides, it wasn't like Malcolm's phone buzzing in the

middle of a meeting would surprise anyone anyway.

"_What are you doing here?" _

Through the glass wall, she saw when Malcolm pulled his phone from his trouser pocket to peek at it and excused himself to walk out of the room. For a moment she froze, thinking that he was coming to talk with her, but then he turned to the left and got into the empty office next to Skinner's, closing the door at his back.

Her phone buzzed in her hand making her almost jump out of her chair and she answered it quickly before someone could see Malcolm's name blinking on the screen. Maybe it was time to choose him another identification in her phone contacts. From the corner of her eye, she saw his lean figure at the farthest corner of the office, back turned to her, head slightly bowed.

"Bitching around," he said as soon as she answered the phone, voice low and full of humor. She blinked. He really could be quite infuriating sometimes.

"You should be at home. Resting," she kept her voice low and her eyes fixed on her computer screen, pretending that she was still typing.

"I'm fucking fine. Don't need to worry."

She let out a defeated sigh, knowing that there was nothing she could do now he was already there. He wouldn't come back home unless he was dying. Probably not even then.

"Have you eaten?"

"Yes boss," the smile in his voice made her more at ease, even if she was still concerned. There was a moment of silence before he continued, in a gentle tone.

"Gotta go now. Talk to you later, yeah?"

"'Kay," she said knowing that it was a lost battle.

He came back to Skinner's office in three long strides without looking at her, though she had seen the small smile on his lips that made her hide one of her own. Looking back at the computer screen, she tried to focus on the task ahead of her. There was still a lot of work to be done until she could consider that speech finished. And now, that at any moment she could be called inside Skinner's office to discuss it with the PM Director of Communications himself, she needed to be prepared. For more reasons than she would like to admit.

#

The taxi was on its way to the airport when she finally found time to call him after her not so well succeeded hectic day, not unsurprisingly the only moment she hadn't been running like a mad person.

"I was almost losing hope," he said, his voice sounding tired and sleepy and she felt that urge to pull him into her arms and stroke his hair like she had done the night before.

"You push yourself too hard," she leaned back against the seat, watching the night-lights out of focus through the window. "They don't deserve your sacrifice."

"It's my fucking job," he grumbled, too quick making it sound more like that kind of thing people tell to themselves to make things easier; a too well-practiced answer for all his troubles and sorrows. And it stung her.

"The country will not stop if you take one day off, you know."

"Not sure about that," his tone was lighter, almost teasing, a smile sounding among his words. "Besides, it was a fucking good excuse to see you again."

"As if you need an excuse," Clara smiled despite herself.

"Don't I?"

She could almost see that cheeky smirk on his lips. "You're truly impossible, do you know?"

His low chuckle on the other side warmed her a bit, making her feel less guilty for having scolded him.

"I was thinking more like fucking irresistible, but I can do with that too."

Clara closed her eyes thinking about him, in the blues and greens of his eyes, in how they twinkle when looking at her, his fierce eyebrows and soft curls, and in his smiles, the true ones, the ones that reached his eyes and always seemed to make her melt from inside. She smiled. Irresistible. Surely. Too much for her sake.

Her voice was soft when she finally asked him. "How are you feeling? Honestly."

"Tired, but better," he sighed. "How long would you stay away?"

"Two days," and for a moment it sounded like a too long time for her. "Can I call you?" "I will if you won't."

That definitely put a smile on her face. "Deal. Please, take care, Malc."

"You too, love."

Clara stood there pathetically staring at her phone screen for a long moment after they had hung up. It had been the first time he had called her like that and she knew that she shouldn't be giving so much importance to it because it was just a way of speaking, with no particularly meaning intended. Yet, her foolish heart just skipped a bit.

#

He kept his promise and phoned her while she had been away and a couple of other times more in the days following her coming back when he had been practically locked in his office under piles of work, unable to meet her. Until, he unexpectedly showed up at her door one Thursday evening when she was already in her pajamas, preparing herself for another lonely night curled up on her couch in front of the telly wondering when they would be able to see each other again.

He stood at her door inside a gray fleece jumper, his curls darker and slightly damp from a probably recent shower. A boyish grin curled his lips up, dazzling as ever even when he didn't want it to be, and Clara felt her heart fluttering.

"Thought you had some arses to save," she stepped away to allow him to get in and smiled against his lips when he pulled her into a kiss. He smelled like soap and aftershave and fresh laundry and

something else that could only be him. And it was just like heaven.

"Yeah," his lips twitched in a smug smirk and his hands slid down her arms until he took her hands in his after she had closed the door. "It happens that I'm just too fucking clever for my sake."

"So you're telling me that you are unexpectedly free for tonight?" He slowly pulled her into him, his hands came to rest on her waist.

"I'm telling you that I'm yours for tonight," he leaned into her to kiss her lips tenderly before he whispered in her ear making a shiver run down her body. "All yours."

"Hmmm... I like the sound of that," there was a small grin on her lips while she placed one hand flat on his chest and pushed him backwards until his legs hit the backrest of her couch, making him lean against it.

"I thought you would," he smiled pulling her into another kiss, his tongue brushing her upper lip asking for passage. She stood in between his legs, arms around his neck, fingers playing gently with the hair that rested at his nape, lips parting to welcome him. Until her teeth came out to graze his lower lip gently, breaking the kiss to look at him.

"But first," she extended one of her hands, palm up, "your phones."

"Ah," a smirk crossed his face. After waiting for so long for some time together, after so many interruptions, none of them was willing to take any more risks. Tonight would be theirs, and only theirs.

Malcolm grabbed the two phones from inside his pockets and turned them off before he tossed them carelessly over his shoulder, without even look to see where they would land. He cocked up one thick eyebrow prompting her to let out a small laugh before she leaned into him to brush her lips on his.

"Coffee?" she asked him, turning around to head to her kitchen, but his hands on her waist prevented her from moving any further.

"You," he slowly turned her around, making her face him again. "I want you," he swallowed hard, his voice hoarse and low. Despite his clear intention, there was a certain hesitation in his eyes while he watched her as if waiting for any kind of sign that showed she was still on the same page than him. It had been too long since their almost first night, after all.

She gave one step closer to him and it was all the answer he needed because his mouth came down on hers and he kissed thoroughly. And it was different from all the other times they had kissed before, longing and restraint commanding their actions, his tongue eager and demanding, asking for passage, parting her lips. Her response was as hot and passionate, fingers grasping his jumper in search of support when she inclined her head to give him better access. His greedy lips explored the soft skin on her neck, his fingers fumbling with her clothes and buttons in search of any bit of bare skin he could graze.

Her top came out first, quick followed by her pajama bottoms, leaving her only in her pants in his arms, her skin on fire under his kisses and touches. His long fingers played with the hem of her pants, teasing her, stroking her over the soft fabric making her moan in his mouth. Slowly, he pulled it down to her knees and she let it slid down until she kicked it out of her feet. His hands hovered over her back, light feather touches leaving a trail of goose bumps on the outside of her breast and down to her stomach and she shivered in anticipation when his hand approached whereshe wanted him the most.

Then, without any warning, he pulled her away a little, leaving her dizzy and momentarily confused, her entire body tingling and missing him instantly.

"What?" she asked, breathless and just a little baffled by the way his eyes lingered over her body as if he wanted to commit to his memory every single detail of her.

"Just wanted to look at you," he whispered, long fingers gently running down her cheeks, tracing the curve of her bottom lip to the line of her jaw. "Do you realize how fucking beautiful you are? I could drown in you."

She opened her mouth to answer but no words came out. Instead, her body swayed towards to him and his arms enveloped her with strength when he kissed her deeper and rougher this time, like a thirsty man. Clara opened her mouth to welcome him, her tongue searching for his, tasting him, the feel of his wanting already hard and hot against her middle.

His lips traced a path of fire down from her lips to her collarbone, teeth nibbling at her exposed skin, soothing the spot with his tongue before his lips moved down.

"Clara..." He whispered against her skin, a hoarse pleading, his fingertips mapping her skin. "Clara..." he said once more at the shell of her ear and she found herself over wobbly knees.

Pulling him by the hand, she led him to her bedroom, taking off his jumper and t-shirt before she took him down on the bed on top of her, relishing in the feeling of his skin against her breasts.

"Come on," her hand slid in between them with a small smile in search of the button of his trousers. "Let's make this a more fair game."

Malcolm gave her a lopsided smile and helped her to undress him, his discarded clothes forming a pile on the floor next to the bed. He knelt on the bed, beside her, watching her for a moment before his body came to cover hers, his mouth claiming hers in a slow and sensual motion.

There was nothing in between them now, only the warmth of his skin against hers, the feeling of his clever tongue and fingers mapping the curves of her body, like fire, making her seethe underneath him. It didn't take him longer to bring her on the edge and, as much as her entire body claimed for release, she wanted him with her, she wanted to feel him inside her. A gentle pull on his hair, a touch on his chin and he was back to her, eyes locked on hers intently when he finally slid inside her, a low moan in the back of his throat.

And it was just as the world just stopped. There was nothing in the Universe, just the two of them and that moment and then Clara understood that there had never been something so right in her entire life as to be there, with him.

He kissed her long, pulling one of her hands to the top of her head, their fingers entwining before he started to move again and they easily found their rhythm together. Though they struggle to make it last longer, there was no way back from where they were, too high, too close.

She came first, hard, losing herself completely and falling apart and Malcolm followed her close behind, her name on his lips like an enchantment. They stood there, ragged breaths, a mess of limping limbs as the waves of pleasure crashed over them and slowly faded away. He rested his damp forehead on her shoulder, weight supported by one arm, breath hot against her chest. She slowly ran her fingers through his hair, eyes opening to see his face when he finally lifted his head.

#

Malcolm thought her even more beautiful now, flushed cheeks, messy hair, a hint of a languid smile on her swollen lips and the fire of the sun in her eyes. He placed a tender and slow kiss on her mouth and felt her lips curling into a smile against his. Moving away, he let himself fall on the bed next to her and pulled her closer, gently, relishing in the way her head came to rest on his shoulder, in how her leg covered one of his and her hand so easily found its place over his heart. As if it always belonged there.

"That was..." She trailed off as if she didn't know how to finish. And she really didn't because he knew exactly what she was trying to say. So he whipped his head just a little to look at her, a low chuckle shaking his chest before he enveloped her in his arms.

"Yeah," he planted a gentle kiss on her forehead, still feeling his heart beating faster. "Couldn't have said it fucking better, love."


End file.
